Throi$i  the  GRAND  CANYON 
fr,     WYOMING  to  MEXICO 

•/'  ,     .v  V      .  ,  >u;: 


1 


•I 


LIBRARY 

-'TV  OF 
CALIFORNIA 


SAN  DIEGO        . 

V— x 


Through  the  Grand  Canyon 
from  Wyoming  to  Mexico 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON    •    CHICAGO    •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •   SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •   BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


Copyright  by  Kolb  Bros. 
THE  GRAND  CANYON  AT  THE  MOUTH  OF  HA  VA  SU  CREEK 


Through  the  Grand  Canyon 
from  Wyoming  to  Mexico 

+/  »s  ^~^ 


By 

E.  L.  Kolb 


With  a  Foreword  by  Owen  Wister 


With  48  Plates  from  Photographs 
by  the  Author  and  his  brother 


New  Tork 

The  Macmillan  Company 
1914 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1914, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  October,  1914. 


Nrtfaoob 

J.  S.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  <fe  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


2>et>ication 

TO   THE    MANY   FRIENDS 

WHO   "  PULLED  "    FOR   US,    IF   NOT   WITH   US 
DURING   THE    ONE    HUNDRED   ONE   DAYS    OF   OUR    RIVER   TRIP 

THIS   VOLUME 
IS    RESPECTFULLY   DEDICATED 


FOREWORD 

IT  is  a  twofold  courage  of  which  the  author  of  this  book 
is  the  serene  possessor  —  shared  equally  by  his  daring  brother  ; 
and  one  side  of  this  bravery  is  made  plain  throughout  the 
following  pages.  Every  youth  who  has  in  him  a  spark  of 
adventure  will  kindle  with  desire  to  battle  his  way  also  from 
Green  River  to  the  foot  of  Bright  Angel  Trail ;  while  every 
man  whose  bones  have  been  stiffened  and  his  breath  made 
short  by  the  years,  will  remember  wistfully  such  wild  tastes 
of  risk  and  conquest  that  he,  too,  rejoiced  in  when  he  was 
young. 

Whether  it  deal  with  the  climbing  of  dangerous  peaks,  or 
the  descent  (as  here)  of  some  fourteen  hundred  miles  of  water 
both  mysterious  and  ferocious,  the  well-told  tale  of  a  perilous 
journey,  planned  with  head  and  carried  through  with  daunt- 
less persistence,  always  holds  the  attention  of  its  readers  and 
gives  them  many  a  thrill.  This  tale  is  very  well  told.  Though 
it  is  the  third  of  its  kind,  it  differs  from  its  predecessors  more 
than  enough  to  hold  its  own :  no  previous  explorers  have 
attempted  to  take  moving  pictures  of  the  Colorado  River  with 
themselves  weltering  in  its  foam.  More  than  this  :  while  the 
human  race  lasts  it  will  be  true,  that  any  man  who  is  lucky 
enough  to  fix  upon  a  hard  goal  and  win  it,  and  can  in  direct 
and  simple  words  tell  us  how  he  won  it,  will  write  a  good  book. 


viii  FOREWORD 

Perhaps  this  planet  does  somewhere  else  contain  a  thing 
like  the  Colorado  River  —  but  that  is  no  matter ;  we  at  any 
rate  in  our  continent  possess  one  of  nature's  very  vastest 
works.  After  The  River  and  its  tributaries  have  done  with 
all  sight  of  the  upper  world,  have  left  behind  the  bordering 
plains  and  streamed  through  the  various  gashes  which  their 
floods  have  sliced  in  the  mountains  that  once  stopped  their 
way,  then  the  culminating  wonder  begins.  The  River  has 
been  flowing  through  the  loneliest  part  which  remains  to  us 
of  that  large  space  once  denominated  "  The  Great  American 
Desert "  by  the  vague  maps  in  our  old  geographies.  It  has 
passed  through  regions  of  emptiness  still  as  wild  as  they  were 
before  Columbus  came ;  where  not  only  no  man  lives  now 
nor  any  mark  is  found  of  those  forgotten  men  of  the  cliffs, 
but  the  very  surface  of  the  earth  itself  looks  monstrous  and 
extinct.  Upon  one  such  region  in  particular  the  author  of 
these  pages  dwells,  when  he  climbs  up  out  of  the  gulf  in  whose 
bottom  he  has  left  his  boat  by  the  River,  to  look  out  upon  a 
world  of  round  gray  humps  and  hollows  which  seem  as  if  it 
were  made  of  the  backs  of  huge  elephants.  Through  such  a 
country  as  this,  scarcely  belonging  to  our  era  any  more  than 
the  mammoth  or  the  pterodactyl,  scarcely  belonging  to  time 
at  all,  does  the  Colorado  approach  and  enter  its  culminating 
marvel.  Then,  for  283  miles  it  inhabits  a  nether  world  of  its 
own.  The  few  that  have  ventured  through  these  places  and 
lived  are  a  handful  to  those  who  went  in  and  were  never  seen 
again.  The  white  bones  of  some  have  been  found  on  the 


FOREWORD  ix 

shores;  but  most  were  drowned;  and  in  this  water  no  bodies 
ever  rise,  because  the  thick  sand  that  its  torrent  churns  along 
clogs  and  sinks  them. 

This  place  exerts  a  magnetic  spell.  The  sky  is  there 
above  it,  but  not  of  it.  Its  being  is  apart ;  its  climate ;  its 
light ;  its  own.  The  beams  of  the  sun  come  into  it  like  vis- 
itors. Its  own  winds  blow  through  it,  not  those  of  outside, 
where  we  live.  The  River  streams  down  its  mysterious 
reaches,  hurrying  ceaselessly ;  sometimes  a  smooth  sliding 
lap,  sometimes  a  falling,  broken  wilderness  of  billows  and 
whirlpools.  Above  stand  its  walls,  rising  through  space  upon 
space  of  silence.  They  glow,  they  gloom,  they  shine.  Bend 
after  bend  they  reveal  themselves,  endlessly  new  in  endlessly 
changing  veils  of  colour.  A  swimming  and  jewelled  blue  pre- 
dominates, as  of  sapphires  being  melted  and  spun  into  skeins 
of  shifting  cobweb.  Bend  after  bend  this  trance  of  beauty 
and  awe  goes  on,  terrible  as  the  Day  of  Judgment,  sublime 
as  the  Psalms  of  David.  Five  thousand  feet  below  the  opens 
and  barrens  of  Arizona,  this  canyon  seems  like  an  avenue  con- 
ducting to  the  secret  of  the  universe  and  the  presence  of  the 
gods. 

Is  much  wonder  to  be  felt  that  its  beckoning  enchantment 
should  have  drawn  two  young  men  to  dwell  beside  it  for  many 
years  ;  to  give  themselves  wholly  to  it;  to  descend  and  ascend 
among  its  buttressed  pinnacles  ;  to  discover  caves  and  water- 
falls hidden  in  its  labyrinths  ;  to  climb,  to  creep,  to  hang  in 
mid-air,  in  order  to  learn  more  and  more  of  it,  and  at  last 


X  FOREWORD 

to  gratify  wholly  their  passion  in  the  great  adventure  of  this 
journey  through  it  from  end  to  end  ?  No  siren  song  could 
have  lured  travellers  more  than  the  siren  silence  of  the  Grand 
Canyon :  but  these  young  men  did  not  leave  their  bones  to 
whiten  upon  its  shores.  The  courage  that  brought  them  out 
whole  is  plain  throughout  this  narrative,  in  spite  of  its  mod- 
esty ;  but  they  have  had  to  exert  and  maintain  an  equal  cour- 
age against  another  danger. 

The  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  Railway  is  the  most 
majestic  system  between  Chicago  and  the  Pacific.  Years  in 
advance  of  its  imitators,  it  established  along  its  course  hotels 
and  restaurants  where  both  architecture  and  cooking  made 
part  of  an  immense  plan  that  was  something  not  far  from 
genius.  The  very  names  of  these  hotels,  chosen  from  the 
annals  of  the  Spanish  explorers,  stamp  them  with  distinction. 
Outside  and  in,  they  conform  alike  to  climate  and  tradition. 
They  are  like  shells  in  the  desert,  echoing  the  tale  of  Coro- 
nado,  the  legend  of  the  Indian.  No  corporation  equals  the 
Santa  Fe  in  its  civilized  regard  for  beauty.  To  any  traveller 
asking  what  way  to  go  to  California  for  scenery,  comfort, 
pleasure,  and  good  food,  I  should  answer,  by  this  way. 

But  is  the  Santa  Fe  wise  in  its  persecution  of  the  brothers 
Kolb  ?  Of  course  it  has  made  the  Grand  Canyon  accessible 
to  thousands  where  only  scores  could  go  before.  And  for  the 
money  and  the  enterprise  spent  upon  this,  nobody  but  a 
political  mad-dog  would  deny  the  railroad's  right  to  a  generous 
return.  But  why  try  to  swallow  the  whole  canyon  ?  Why, 


FOREWORD  XI 

because  the  brothers  Kolb  are  independent,  crush  their  little 
studio,  stifle  their  little  trade,  push  these  genuine  artists  and 
lovers  of  nature  away  from  the  Canyon  that  nobody  has  photo- 
graphed or  can  photograph  so  well  ?  This  isn't  to  regard 
Beauty.  You're  hurting  your  own  cause. 

The  attempt,  so  far,  has  failed  to  extinguish  these  indepen- 
dent brothers.  But  is  such  an  attempt  wise  ?  Isn't  it  a  good 
specimen  of  that  high-handed  disregard  of  everybody  but 
yourself,  which  has  bred  (and  partly  justified)  the  popular 
rage  that  now  undiscriminatingly  threatens  honest  and  dis- 
honest dollars  alike,  so  that  the  whole  nation  is  at  the  mercy 
of  laws  passed  by  the  overdone  emotions  and  the  underdone 

intelligence  of  the  present  hour  ? 

OWEN   WISTER. 


PREFACE 

THIS  is  a  simple  narrative  of  our  recent  photographic  trip 
down  the  Green  and  Colorado  rivers  in  rowboats  —  our  ob- 
servations and  impressions.  It  is  not  intended  to  replace  in 
any  way  the  books  published  by  others  covering  a  similar 
journey.  Major  J.  W.  Powell's  report  of  the  original  explo- 
ration, for  instance,  is  a  classic,  literary  and  geological ;  and 
searchers  after  excellence  may  well  be  recommended  to  his 
admirable  work. 

Neither  is  this  chronicle  intended  as  a  handbook  of  the 
territory  traversed  —  such  as  Mr.  F.  S.  Dellenbaugh's  two 
volumes :  "  The  Romance  of  the  Grand  Canyon,"  and  "  A 
Canyon  Voyage."  We  could  hardly  hope  to  add  anything 
of  value  to  his  wealth  of  detail.  In  fact,  much  of  the  data 
given  here  —  such  as  distances,  elevations,  and  records  of 
other  expeditions  —  is  borrowed  from  the  latter  volume. 
And  I  take  this  opportunity  of  expressing  our  appreciation 
to  Mr.  Dellenbaugh  for  his  most  excellent  and  entertaining 
books. 

We  are  indebted  to  Mr.  Julius  F.  Stone,  of  Columbus, 
Ohio,  for  much  valuable  information  and  assistance.  Mr. 
Stone  organized  a  party  and  made  the  complete  trip  down 
the  Green  and  Colorado  rivers  in  the  fall  and  winter  of  1909, 


xiv  PREFACE 

arriving  at  Needles,  California,  on  November  27,  1909. 
He  freely  gave  us  the  benefit  of  his  experience  and  presented 
us  with  the  complete  plans  of  the  boats  he  used. 

One  member  of  this  party  was  Nathan  Galloway,  of  Rich- 
field, Utah.  To  him  we  owe  much  of  the  success  of  our 
journey.  Mr.  Galloway  hunts  and  traps  through  the  wilds 
of  Utah,  Colorado,  and  Arizona,  and  has  a  fame  for  skill  and 
nerve  throughout  this  entire  region.  He  makes  a  yearly  trip 
through  the  upper  canyons,  usually  in  a  boat  of  his  own  con- 
struction ;  and  in  addition  has  the  record  of  being  the  only 
person  who  has  made  two  complete  trips  through  the  entire 
series  of  canyons,  clear  to  Needles.  He  it  is  who  has  worked 
out  the  type  of  boats  we  used,  and  their  management  in  the 
dangerous  waters  of  the  Colorado. 

We  have  tried  to  make  this  narrative  not  only  simple,  as 
we  say,  but  truthful.  However,  no  two  people  can  see  things 
in  exactly  the  same  light.  To  some,  nothing  looks  big ;  to 
others,  every  little  danger  is  unconsciously  magnified  out  of 
all  proportion.  For  instance,  we  can  recall  rapids  which  ap- 
peared rather  insignificant  at  first,  but  which  seemed  decidedly 
otherwise  after  we  had  been  overturned  in  them  and  had  felt 
their  power  —  especially  at  the  moment  when  we  were  sure  we 
had  swallowed  a  large  part  of  the  water  that  composed  them. 

The  reader  will  kindly  excuse  the  use  of  the  first  person, 
both  singular  and  plural.  It  is  our  own  story,  after  all,  and 
there  seems  to  be  no  other  way  than  to  tell  it  as  you  find  it 
here. 


CONTENTS 


I.  PREPARATIONS  AT  GREEN  RIVER  CITY,  WYOMING 

II.  INTERESTING  SIGHTS  OF  SOUTHERN  WYOMING 

III.  THE  GATEWAY  OF  ALL  THE  CANYONS 

«  IV.  SUSPICIOUS  HOSTS 

V.  THE  BATTLE  WITH  LODORE      .... 

VI.  HELL'S  HALF  MILE 

VII.  JIMMY  GOES  OVER  THE  MOUNTAIN 

VIII.  AN  INLAND  EXCURSION 

IX.  CANYON  OF  DESOLATION 

X.  HOSPITABLE  RANCHMEN    ..... 

XL  WONDERS  OF  EROSION 

XII.  COULD  WE  SUCCEED  ? 

XIII.  A  COMPANION  VOYAGER   ..... 

XIV.  A  PATIENT  AMID  THE  CATARACTS     . 

XV.  PLACER  GOLD    ....... 

XVI.  A  WARNING 

XVII.  A  NIGHT  OF  THRILLS 

XVIII.  MARBLE  HALLS  AND  MARBLE  WALLS 

XIX.  SIGNALLING  OUR  CANYON  HOME 

XX.  ONE  MONTH  LATER  ...... 

XXL  WHAT  CHRISTMAS  EVE  BROUGHT     . 

XXII.  SHORT  OF  PROVISIONS  IN  A  SUNLESS  GORGE  . 

XXIII.  THE  LAST  PORTAGE  AND  THE  LAST  RAPIDS    . 

XXIV.  ON  THE  CREST  OF  A  FLOOD     .... 
XXV.  FOUR  DAYS  TO  YUMA 

XXVI.  ACROSS  THE  MEXICO  BORDER 

XXVII.  THE  GULF  OF  CALIFORNIA 


PACK 
I 

12 
22 
36 
50 
64 
71 
83 

93 
1 02 
in 

121 

129 
142 
I56 
169 
I78 
190 
203 
219 

235 
249 
267 
280 
290 

303 
321 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Grand  Canyon  near  the  mouth  of  Ha  Va  Su  Creek 

Frontispiece 


FACING   PAGE 


After  a  difficult  picture.     E.  C.  Kolb  on  rope          .         .  2 

In  the  Grand  Canyon  near  the  Little  Colorado       .         .  6 

The  start  at  Green  River,  Wyoming  10 

Fire  hole  chimneys 10 

Boats  and  crew.     Photo  taken  in  the  Grand  Canyon      .  20 

Inside  of  the  first  canyons        ......  26 

Tilted  rocks  at  Kingfisher  Canyon 26 

"  Immense  rocks  had  fallen  from  the  cliff "               .         .  36 
The  rocks  were  dark  red ;  occasional  pines  grew  on  the 

ledges,  making  a  charming  combination  of  colour  .  40 
"  We  stopped  at  one  hay  ranch  close  to  the  Utah-Colo- 
rado line" 48 

Remarkable  entrance  to  Lodore  Canyon          ...  50 
"The  river  cut  a  channel  under  the  walls"  at  Lower 

Disaster  Falls  ........  56 

"  Everything  was  wet " 56 

"  The  canyon  was  gloomy  and  darkened  with  shreds  of 

clouds " 64 

"  It  took  nine  loads  to  empty  one  boat "         ...  68 

"An  upright  log  was  found  wedged  between  the  boulders"  68 

Echo  Cliffs.     "  This  was  the  end  of  Lodore "           .         .  74 
End  of  Echo  Cliffs.     The  mouth  of  the  Yampa  River  is 

on  the  right 74 

"  Here  was  one  end  of  the  rainbow  of  rock  that  began 

on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains  "         .         .         -78 


xviii  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 


Each  bed  was  placed  in  a  rubber  and  a  canvas  sack. 

Photo  taken  in  Marble  Canyon  ....  84 

"  Now  for  a  fish  story  " 94 

Pat  Lynch  :  the  canyon  hermit        .....     106 

Skeleton  found  in  the  Grand  Canyon      .         .         .         .114 

The  Buttes  of  the  Cross  .         .         .         .         .         .118 

The  Land  of  Standing  Rocks  was  like  a  maze  .  .122 
Rocks  overhanging  the  Colorado's  Gorge  .  .  .122 
Thirteen  hundred  feet  above  the  Green  River  .  .124 
The  junction  of  the  two  rivers.  The  Grand  River  is  on 

the  right 128 

Looking  west  into  Cataract  Canyon  .  .  .  .134 

Charles  Smith  and  his  boat 134 

Rapid  No.  22  in  Cataract  Canyon  .....     140 

Camp  in  the  heart  of  Cataract  Canyon   ....     146 

Lower  Cataract  Canyon.     Boats  tandem         .         .         .152 
Beginning  of  a  natural  bridge.     Glen  Canyon         .         .     152 
Pictographs  in  Glen  Canyon    ......     160 

Rainbow  Natural  Bridge  between  the  Colorado  River 

and  Navajo  Mountain.     Height  three  hundred  and 

eight  feet ;  span  two  hundred  and  seventy  feet  .  168 

Placer  dredge  at  Lee's  Ferry 174 

The  Soap  Creek  Rapid ;  a  little  above  lowest  stage. 

Photo  published  by  permission  of  Julius  F.  Stone  .  188 
"  It  was  too  good  a  camp  to  miss  "  .  .  .  .192 
Arch  in  Marble  Canyon.  Note  figure  on  right  .  .  192 

Walls  of  Marble  Canyon 196 

Approaching  the  Grand  Canyon.  Note  boat  .  .  202 
In  the  Grand  Canyon  below  the  Sockdologer  Rapid. 

Extreme  height  of  wall  about  five  thousand  feet  .  210 
The  Rust  Tramway.  Span  four  hundred  and  fifty  feet  214 
Bright  Angel  Creek  and  Canyon 218 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xix 


FACING    PAGE 


Rough  water  in  Hermit  Creek  Rapid.     Height  of  distant 

wave  about  fifteen  feet     ......  222 

Type  of  rapid  in  the  granite,  near  Bass  Trail           .         .  230 

The  break  in  the  Edith 240 

Merry    Christmas.     The    repair   was    made   with    bilge 

boards,  canvas,  paint,  and  tin           ....  240 

Pulling  clear  of  a  rock     .......  248 

A  shower  bath          ........  248 

Grand    Canyon   at  the  mouth  of  Ha  Va   Su   Canyon. 
Medium    high    water.     Frontispiece    shows    same 

place  in  low  water 250 

Lava  Falls.     Lava  on  left ;  hot  springs  on  right      .         .  254 
The    last   portage.     The  rocks  were  ice  filmed.     Note 

potholes 270 

Watching  for  the  signal  fire.   Mrs.  Emery  and  Edith  Kolb  278 

The  Grand  Canyon  from  the  head  of  Bright  Angel  Trail  284 

The  Cork  Screw  :  lower  end  of  Bright  Angel  Trail           .  294 

Zoroaster  Temple  :  from  the  end  of  Bright  Angel  Trail  .  318 
Ten  miles  from  the  Gulf  of  California.     Coming  up  on  a 

twenty-foot  tide 330 

Sunset  on  the  lower  Colorado  River        .         .         .         .  330 


Through  the  Grand  Canyon 
from  Wyoming  to  Mexico 


•pt.  o,  i9in ; 

ODOkTCAHVOH 


THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM 
WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

CHAPTER  I 

PREPARATIONS    AT   GREEN    RIVER    CITY,    WYOMING 

EARLY  in  September  of  1911  my  brother  Emery  and  I 
landed  in  Green  River  City,  Wyoming,  ready  for  the 
launching  of  our  boats  on  our  long-planned  trip  down  the 
Green  and  Colorado  rivers. 

For  ten  years  previous  to  this  time  we  had  lived  at 
the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona,  following  the  work  of 
scenic  photography.  In  a  general  way  we  had  covered 
much  of  the  country  adjacent  to  our  home,  following 
our  pack  animals  over  ancient  and  little-used  trails, 
climbing  the  walls  of  tributary  canyons,  dropping  over 
.the  ledges  with  ropes  when  necessary,  always  in  search  of 
the  interesting  and  unusual. 

After  ten  years  of  such  work  many  of  our  plans  in 
connection  with  a  pictorial  exploration  of  the  Grand 
Canyon  were  crowned  with  success.  Yet  all  the  while 
our  real  ambition  remained  unsatisfied. 


2     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

We  wanted  to  make  the  "Big  Trip"  -  as  we  called 
it ;  in  other  words,  we  wanted  a  pictorial  record  of  the 
entire  series  of  canyons  on  the  Green  and  Colorado  rivers. 

The  time  had  come  at  last,  after  years  of  hoping, 
after  long  months  of  active  preparation. 

We  stood  at  the  freight  window  of  the  station  at 
Green  River  City  asking  for  news  of  our  boats.  They 
had  arrived  and  could  be  seen  in  their  crates  shoved  away 
in  a  corner.  It  was  too  late  to  do  anything  with  them 
that  day ;  so  we  let  them  remain  where  they  were,  and 
went  out  to  look  over  the  town. 

Green  River  City  proved  to  be  a  busy  little  place 
noisy  with  switch  engines,  crowded  with  cattle-men 
and  cowboys,  and  with  hunting  parties  outfitting  for 
the  Jackson  Hole  country.  A  thoroughly  Western  town 
of  the  better  sort,  with  all  the  picturesqueness  of  people 
and  surroundings  that  the  name  implies. 

It  was  busier  than  usual,  even,  that  evening ;  for 
a  noisy  but  good-natured  crowd  had  gathered  around  the 
telegraph  office,  eager  for  news  of  a  wrestling  match 
then  taking  place  in  an  Eastern  city.  As  we  came  up 
they  broke  into  a  cheer  at  the  news  that  the  American 
wrestler  had  defeated  his  foreign  opponent.  There  was 
a  discussion  a^;  to  what  constituted  the  "toe-hold," 
three  boys  ran  an  impromptu  foot-race,  there  was  some 
talk  on  the  poor  condition  of  the  range,  and  the  party 
began  to  break  up. 


( 'opyright  hy  Kolb  Bros. 
AFTER   A  DIFFICULT  PICTURE.     E.    C.    KOLB   ON   THE   ROPE. 


GREEN  RIVER  CITY,  WYOMING  3 

The  little  excitement  over,  we  returned  to  the  hotel ; 
feeling,  in  spite  of  our  enthusiasm,  somewhat  lonesome 
and  very  much  out  of  place.  Our  sleep  that  night  was 
fitful  and  broken  by  dreams  wherein  the  places  we  had 
known  were  strangely  interwoven  with  these  new  scenes 
and  events.  Through  it  all  we  seemed  to  hear  the  roar 
of  the  Rio  Colorado. 

We  looked  out  of  the  window  the  next  morning,  on 
a  landscape  that  was  novel,  yet  somehow  familiar.  The 
river,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  very  clear  and  unruffled 
under  its  groves  of  cottonwood,  wound  through  low 
barren  hills,  as  unlike  as  could  be  to  the  cliffs  and  chasms 
we  knew  so  well.  But  the  colours  —  gray,  red,  and  umber, 
just  as  Moran  has  painted  them  —  reassured  us.  We 
seemed  not  so  far  from  home,  after  all. 

It  was  Wyoming  weather,  though ;  clear  and  cold, 
after  a  windy  night.  When,  after  breakfast,  we  went 
down  to  the  river,  we  found  that  a  little  ice  had  formed 
along  the  margin. 

The  days  of  final  preparation  passed  quickly  — 
with  unpacking  of  innumerable  boxes  and  bundles, 
checking  off  each  article  against  our  lists  ;  and  with  a  long 
and  careful  overhauling  of  our  photographic  outfit. 

This  last  was  a  most  important  task,  for  the  success 
of  our  expedition  depended  on  our  success  as  photog- 
raphers. We  could  not  hope  to  add  anything  of  impor- 
tance to  the  scientific  and  topographic  knowledge  of  the 


4     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

canyons  already  existing :  and  merely  to  come  out  alive 
at  the  other  end  did  not  make  a  strong  appeal  to  our 
vanity.  We  were  there  as  scenic  photographers  in  love 
with  their  work,  and  determined  to  reproduce  the  marvels 
of  the  Colorado's  canyons,  as  far  as  we  could  do  it. 

In  addition  to  three  film  cameras  we  had  8  X  10  and 
5X7  plate  cameras ;  a  plentiful  supply  of  plates  and 
films  ;  a  large  cloth  dark-room  ;  and  whatever  chemicals 
we  should  need  for  tests.  Most  important  of  all,  we 
had  brought  a  motion-picture  camera.  We  had  no  real 
assurance  that  so  delicate  an  apparatus,  always  difficult 
to  use  and  regulate,  could  even  survive  the  journey  - 
much  less,  in  such  inexperienced  hands  as  ours,  repro- 
duce its  wonders.  But  this,  nevertheless,  was  our  secret 
hope,  hardly  admitted  to  our  most  intimate  friends 
—  that  we  could  bring  out  a  record  of  the  Colorado 
as  it  is,  a  live  thing,  armed  as  it  were  with  teeth,  ready  to 
crush  and  devour. 

There  was  shopping  to  do ;  for  the  purchases  of  pro- 
visions, with  a  few  exceptions,  had  been  left  to  the  last. 
There  were  callers,  too  —  an  embarrassing  number  of 
them.  We  had  camped  on  a  small  island  near  the  town, 
not  knowing  when  we  did  so  that  it  had  recently  been 
put  aside  for  a  public  park.  The  whole  of  Green  River 
City,  it  seemed,  had  learned  of  our  project,  and  came  to 
inspect,  or  advise,  or  jeer  at  us.  The  kindest  of  them 
wished  us  well ;  the  other  sort  told  us  "it  would  serve  us 


GREEN  RIVER  CITY,  WYOMING  5 

right"  ;  but  not  one  of  our  callers  had  any  encouragement 
to  offer.  Many  were  the  stories  of  disaster  and  death 
with  which  they  entertained  us.  One  story  in  particular, 
as  it  seems  never  to  have  reached  print  —  though  un- 
questionably true  —  ought  to  be  set  down  here. 

Three  years  before  two  young  men  from  St.  Louis  had 
embarked  here,  intending  to  follow  the  river  throughout 
its  whole  course.  They  were  expert  canoeists,  powerful 
swimmers,  and  equipped  with  a  steel  boat,  we  were  told, 
built  somewhat  after  the  style  of  a  canoe.  They  chose 
the  time  of  high  water  —  not  knowing,  probably,  that 
while  high  water  decreases  the  labour  of  the  passage,  it 
greatly  increases  the  danger  of  it.  They  came  to  the  first 
difficult  rapid  in  Red  Canyon,  seventy  odd  miles  below 
Green  River  City.  It  looked  bad  to  them.  They  landed 
above  it  and  stripped  to  their  underclothing  and  socks. 
Then  they  pushed  out  into  the  stream. 

Almost  at  once  they  lost  control  of  the  boat.  It  over- 
turned ;  it  rolled  over  and  over ;  it  flung  them  off  and 
left  them  swimming  for  their  lives.  In  some  way,  pos- 
sibly the  currents  favouring,  they  reached  the  shore.  The 
boat,  with  all  its  contents,  was  gone.  There  they  were, 
almost  naked,  without  food,  without  weapons,  without  the 
means  of  building  a  fire ;  and  in  an  uninhabited  and 
utterly  inhospitable  country. 

For  four  days  they  wandered,  blistered  by  the  sun  by 
day ;  nearly  frozen  at  night,  bruised  by  the  rocks,  and 


6     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

torn  by  the  brambles.  Finally  they  reached  the  ranch 
at  the  head  of  the  canyons  and  were  found  by  a  half- 
breed  Indian,  who  cared  for  them.  Their  underwear 
had  been  made  into  bindings  for  their  lacerated  feet ; 
they  were  nearly  starved,  and  on  the  verge  of  mental 
collapse.  After  two  weeks'  treatment  in  the  hospital 
at  Green  River  City  they  were  partially  restored  to  health. 
Quite  likely  they  spent  many  of  the  long  hours  of  their 
convalescence  on  the  river  bank,  or  on  the  little  island, 
watching  the  unruffled  stream  glide  underneath  the  cot- 
tonwoods. 

Such  tales  as  this  added  nothing  to  our  fears,  of  course 
—  for  the  whole  history  of  the  Colorado  is  one  long  story 
of  hardship  and  disaster,  and  we  knew,  even  better  than 
our  advisors,  what  risks  lay  before  us.  We  told  our  new- 
found friends,  in  fact,  that  we  had  lived  for  years  on  the 
brink  of  the  Grand  Canyon  itself,  a  gorge  deeper  and  more 
awful,  even,  than  Lodore ;  with  a  volume  of  water  ten 
times  greater.  We  knew,  of  course,  of  the  river's  vast 
length,  of  the  terrible  gorges  that  confined  it,  of  the 
hundreds  of  rapids  through  which  a  boat  would  have 
to  pass. 

We  knew,  too,  how  Major  Powell,  undismayed  by 
legends  of  underground  channels,  impassable  cataracts, 
and  whirlpools ;  of  bloodthirsty  tribes  haunting  its  re- 
cesses, —  had  passed  through  the  canyons  in  safety,  meas- 
uring and  surveying  as  he  went.  We  also  knew  of  the 


Copyright  by  Kolb  Bros. 
IN  THE   GRAND   CANYON   NEAR   THE   LITTLE   COLORADO. 


GREEN  RIVER  CITY,  WYOMING  7 

many  other  attempts  that  had  been  made  —  most  of  them 
ending  in  disaster  or  death,  a  very  few  being  successful. 

Well,  it  had  been  done  ; 1  it  could  be  done  again  —  this 
was  our  answer  to  their  premonitions. 

We  had  present  worries  enough  to  keep  us  from  dwell- 
ing too  much  on  the  future.  It  had  been  our  intention  to 
start  two  weeks  earlier,  but  there  had  been  numerous 
unavoidable  delays.  The  river  was  low;  "the  lowest 
they  had  seen  it  in  years"  they  told  us,  and  falling  lower 
every  day.  There  were  the  usual  difficulties  of  arranging 
a  lot  of  new  material,  and  putting  it  in  working  order. 

At  last  we  were  ready  for  the  boats,  and  you  may  be 
sure  we  lost  no  time  in  having  them  hauled  to  the  river, 
and  launching  them. 

They  were  beauties  —  these  two  boats  of  ours  —  grace- 
ful, yet  strong  in  line,  floating  easily,  well  up  in  the  water, 
in  spite  of  their  five  hundred  pounds'  weight.  They  were 
flat-bottomed,  with  a  ten-inch  rake  or  raise  at  either 
end ;  built  of  white  cedar,  with  unusually  high  sides ; 
with  arched  decks  in  bow  and  stern,  for  the  safe  storing 

1  The  various  expeditions  which  are  credited  with  continuous  or  complete  journeys 
through  all  the  canyons  and  the  dates  of  leaving  Green  River,  Wyoming,  are  as  follows : 

Major  Powell,  1st  journey.     May  24,  1869. 

Major  Powell,    2nd  journey.    May  22,  1871.     Discontinued  at  Kanab  Canyon 
in  the  Grand  Canyon. 

Galloway.     Sept.  20,  1895  and  1896. 

Flavell.    Aug.  27,  1896. 

Stone.       Sept.  12,  1909. 

Kolb.     Sept.  8,  1911. 

For  a  more  complete  record  of  the  earlier  parties  see  appendix. 


8     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

of  supplies.  Sealed  air  chambers  were  placed  in  each  end, 
large  enough  to  keep  the  boats  afloat  even  if  filled  with 
water.  The  compartment  at  the  bow  was  lined  with  tin, 
carefully  soldered,  so  that  even  a  leak  in  the  bottom  would 
not  admit  water  to  our  precious  cargoes.  We  had  placed 
no  limit  on  their  cost,  only  insisting  that  they  should  be 
of  materials  and  workmanship  of  the  very  best,  and 
strictly  in  accordance  with  our  specifications.  In  every 
respect  but  one  they  pleased  us.  Imagine  our  consterna- 
tion when  we  discovered  that  the  hatch  covers  were 
anything  but  water-tight,  though  we  had  insisted  more 
upon  this,  perhaps,  than  upon  any  other  detail.  Loose 
boards,  with  cross-pieces,  fastened  with  little  thumb- 
screws —  there  they  were,  ready  to  admit  the  water  at 
the  very  first  upset. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done.  It  was  too  late  to 
rebuild  the  hatches  even  if  we  had  had  the  proper  ma- 
terial. Owing  to  the  stage  of  water  it  was  imperative 
that  we  should  start  at  once.  Bad  as  it  would  be  to  have 
water  in  our  cargo,  it  would  be  worse  to  have  too  little 
water  in  the  rock-obstructed  channels  of  Red  Canyon,  or 
in  the  "flats"  at  Brown's  Park  for  instance. 

Certainly  the  boats  acted  so  beautifully  in  the  water 
that  we  could  almost  overlook  the  defective  hatches. 
Emery  rowed  upstream  for  a  hundred  yards,  against  a 
stiff  current,  and  came  back  jubilant. 

"They're  great  —  simply  great !"  he  exclaimed. 


GREEN  RIVER  CITY,  WYOMING  9 

We  had  one  real  cause  for  worry,  for  actual  anxiety, 
though  ;  and  as  each  hour  brought  us  nearer  to  the  time  of 
our  departure,  we  grew  more  and  more  desperate.  What 
about  our  third  man  ? 

We  were  convinced  that  a  third  man  was  needed ;  if 
not  for  the  duties  of  camp  making,  helping  with  the  cook- 
ing and  portaging ;  at  least,  for  turning  the  crank  of  the 
motion-picture  camera.  Emery  and  I  could  not  very 
well  be  running  rapids,  and  photographing  ourselves  in 
the  rapids  at  the  same  time.  Without  a  capable  assistant, 
therefore,  much  of  the  real  purpose  would  be  defeated. 

Our  first  move,  accordingly,  had  been  to  secure  the 
services  of  a  strong,  level-headed,  and  competent  man. 
Friends  strongly  advised  us  to  engage  a  Canadian  canoe- 
man,  or  at  least  some  one  familiar  with  the  management 
of  boats  in  rough  water.  It  was  suggested,  also,  that  we 
might  secure  the  help  of  some  one  of  the  voyagers  who 
had  been  members  of  one  of  the  previous  expeditions. 

But  — we  may  as  well  be  frank  about  it  —  we  did  not 
wish  to  be  piloted  through  the  Colorado  by  a  guide.  We 
wanted  to  make  our  own  trip  in  our  own  way.  If  we 
failed,  we  would  have  no  one  but  ourselves  to  blame ;  if 
we  succeeded,  we  would  have  all  the  satisfaction  that 
comes  from  original,  personal  exploration.  In  other 
words,  we  wanted  a  man  to  execute  orders,  not  to  give 
them.  But  that  man  was  hard  to  find  ! 

There  had  been  many  applicants  ;    some  of  them  from 


10     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

distant  parts  of  the  country.  One  by  one  they  were 
sifted  out.  At  length  we  decided  on  one  man  ;  but  later 
he  withdrew.  We  turned  elsewhere,  but  these  appli- 
cations were  withdrawn,  until  there  remained  but  a 
single  letter,  from  a  young  man  in  San  Francisco.  He 
seemed  in  every  way  qualified.  We  wrote  accepting  his 
application,  but  while  waiting  to  hear  from  us  a  civil 
service  position  had  been  offered  and  accepted.  "He 
was  sorry";  and  so  were  we,  for  his  references  proved 
that  he  was  a  capable  man.  Later  he  wrote  that  he  had 
secured  a  substitute.  We  replied  on  the  instant,  by  wir- 
ing money  for  transportation,  with  instructions  for  the 
new  man  to  report  at  once  at  Green  River.  We  took  very 
much  for  granted,  having  confidence  in  our  friends'  sin- 
cerity and  knowledge  of  just  what  was  required. 

The  time  had  passed,  twro  days  before ;  but  —  no  sign 
of  our  man  !  We  wrote,  we  telegraphed,  we  walked  back 
and  forth  to  every  train ;  but  still  he  did  not  come.  Had 
this  man,  too,  failed  us  ? 

Then  "Jimmy"  came  —  just  the  night  before  we  were 
to  leave.  And  never  was  a  man  more  heartily  welcome  ! 

With  James  Fagen  of  San  Francisco  our  party  was 
complete.  He  was  an  Irish-American,  aged  22  years,  a 
strong,  active,  and  willing  chap.  To  be  sure,  he  was 
younger,  and  not  so  experienced  at  "roughing  it"  as  we 
had  hoped.  But  his  good  qualities,  we  were  sure,  would 
make  up  for  what  was  lacking. 


BBH 


THE   START   AT  GREEN   RIVER,   WYOMING. 


FIRE   HOLE   CHIMNEYS. 


GREEN  RIVER  CITY,   WYOMING  II 

Evening  found  us  encamped  a  half  mile  below  the  town, 
near  the  county  bridge.  Our  preparations  were  finished 
-  even  to  the  final  purchase  of  odds  and  ends  ;  with  am- 
munition for  shot-gun  and  rifle.  We  threw  our  sleeping- 
bags  on  the  dry  ground  close  to  the  river's  edge,  and,  all  our 
anxieties  gone,  we  turned  our  faces  to  the  stars  and  slept. 

At  daybreak  we  were  aroused  by  the  thunder  of  hoofs 
on  the  bridge  above  us,  and  the  shouts  of  cowboys  driv- 
ing a  large  herd  of  half-broken  horses.  We  tumbled  into 
our  clothes,  splashed  our  faces  with  ice-cold  water  from 
the  river,  and  hurried  over  to  the  hotel  for  a  last  breakfast. 

Then  we  sat  down  —  in  the  little  hotel  at  Green  River 
City  —  as  others  had  done  before,  to  write  last  messages 
to  those  who  were  nearest  and  dearest  to  us.  A  telegram 
to  our  parents  in  an  Eastern  city ;  and  another  to  Emery's 
wife  and  little  girl,  at  Bright  Angel,  more  than  eight 
hundred  miles  down  this  self-same  river  —  these,  some- 
how, took  longer  to  write  than  the  letters  themselves. 
But  whatever  we  may  have  felt,  we  finished  this  final 
correspondence  in  silence,  and  hurried  back  to  the  river. 

Something  of  a  crowd  had  gathered  on  the  bridge  to 
wish  us  bon  voyage.  Shouting  up  to  them  our  thanks  for 
their  hospitality,  and  telling  them  to  "look  pleasant," 
we  focussed  the  motion-picture  camera  on  them,  Emery 
turning  the  crank,  as  the  boat  swung  out  into  the  current. 

So  began  our  journey,  on  Friday,  September  the  8th, 
1911,  at  9.30  A.M.,  as  entered  in  my  journal. 


CHAPTER  II 

INTERESTING    SIGHTS    OF    SOUTHERN    WYOMING 

ALL  this  preparation  —  and  still  more,  the  vexatious 
delays  • —  had  been  a  heavy  tax  upon  us.  We  needed  a 
vacation.  We  took  it  —  six  pleasant  care-free  days  — 
hunting  and  fishing  as  we  drifted  through  the  sixty  miles 
of  southern  Wyoming.  There  were  ducks  and  geese  on 
the  river  to  test  our  skill  with  the  shot-gun.  Only  two 
miles  below  Green  River  City  Emery  secured  our  first 
duck,  a  promise  of  good  sport  to  follow.  An  occasional 
cottontail  rabbit  was  seen,  scurrying  to  cover  through 
the  sage-brush,  when  we  made  a  detour  from  the  boats. 
We  saw  many  jack-rabbits  too  —  with  their  long  legs, 
and  exaggerated  ears  —  creatures  swifter,  even,  than  the 
coyotes  themselves. 

We  saw  few  people,  though  an  occasional  rancher  hailed 
us  from  the  shore.  Men  of  the  open  themselves,  the 
character  of  our  expedition  appealed  to  them.  Their 
invitations  to  "come  up  to  the  ranch,  and  spend  the 
evening"  were  always  hearty,  and  could  seldom  be  re- 
fused if  the  day  was  nearly  gone. 

12 


INTERESTING  SIGHTS  OF  SOUTHERN  WYOMING  13 

The  Logan  boys'  ranch,  for  instance,  was  our  first 
camp  ;  but  will  be  one  of  the  last  to  be  forgotten.  The 
two  Logan  boys  were  sturdy,  companionable  young  men, 
full  of  pranks,  and  of  that  bubbling,  generous  humour 
that  flourishes  in  this  Western  air.  We  were  amused  by 
their  kindly  offer  to  allow  Jimmy  to  ride  "the  little  bay" 
-  a  beautiful  animal,  with  the  shifty  eye  of  a  criminal. 
But  Jimmy,  though  city-bred,  was  not  to  be  trapped,  and 
declined  ;  very  wisely,  as  we  thought.  We  photographed 
their  favourite  horses,  and  the  cabin ;  also  helped  them 
with  their  own  camera,  and  developed  some  plates  in 
the  underground  storm-cellar,  —  a  perfect  dark-room,  as 
it  happened. 

We  took  advantage  of  this  pleasant  camp  to  make  a 
few  alterations  about  our  boats.  Certain  mechanical 
details  had  been  neglected  in  our  desire  to  be  off,  our 
intention  being  to  look  after  them  as  occasion  demanded. 
Our  short  run  had  already  shown  us  where  we  were  weak 
or  unprepared.  The  rowlocks  needed  strengthening. 
One  had  come  apart  in  our  first  brush  with  a  little  riffle. 
The  rowlocks  were  of  a  little-used  type,  but  very  service- 
able in  dangerous  waters.  Inside  the  usual  rowlock  a 
heavy  ring  was  hung,  kept  in  place  by  strong  set-screws, 
but  allowing  full  play  in  every  direction.  These  rings 
were  slipped  over  the  oars ;  then  the  usual  leather  collar 
was  nailed  on  the  oar,  making  it  impossible  for  the  rings 
to  become  separated  from  the  oars.  The  holes  for  the 


14     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

set-screws  were  too  shallow,  so  we  went  over  the  entire 
lot  to  deepen  them.  We  foresaw  where  a  break  might 
occur,  and  hung  another  lock  of  the  open  type  on  a  cord, 
beside  each  oar,  ready  for  instant  use  in  case  of  emergency. 

The  Logan  boys,  seeing  our  difficulties  in  making  some 
of  these  changes,  came  to  our  relief.  "Help  yourselves 
to  the  blacksmith  shop,"  they  said  heartily.  Here  was 
an  opportunity.  Much  time  was  consumed  in  providing 
a  device  to  hold  our  extra  oars  —  out  of  the  way  on  top 
of  the  deck,  but  available  at  a  moment's  notice.  Thanks 
to  the  Logan  boys  and  their  blacksmith  shop,  these  and 
many  other  little  details  were  corrected  once  for  all ;  and 
we  launched  our  boats  in  confidence  on  the  morning  of 
September  10. 

A  few  miles  below  we  came  to  the  locally  famous  Fire 
Hole  Chimneys,  interesting  examples  of  the  butte  forma- 
tion, so  typical  of  the  West.  There  were  several  of  these 
buttes,  about  800  feet  high,  composed  of  stratified  rock ; 
in  colour  quite  similar  to  the  rocks  at  Green  River  City, 
but  capped  with  rock  of  a  peculiar  burnt  appearance, 
though  not  of  volcanic  origin.  Some  of  the  buttes  sloped 
up  from  the  very  edge  of  the  river ;  others  were  separated 
from  the  river  by  low  flats,  covered  with  sage-brush  and 
bunch-grass,  —  that  nutritious  food  of  the  range  stock. 
At  the  water's  edge  was  the  usual  fringe  of  willows,  cot- 
tonwoods,  and  shrubs  innumerable,  —  all  mirrored  in  the 
limpid  surface  of  Green  River. 


INTERESTING    SIGHTS  OF  SOUTHERN  WYOMING  15 

At  the  foot  of  the  cliffs  were  a  number  of  wild  burros, 
old  and  young  —  fuzzy  little  baby-burros,  looking  ridic- 
ulously like  jack-rabbits  —  snorting  their  indignation 
at  our  invasion  of  their  privacy.  Strange,  by  the  way, 
how  quickly  these  wild  asses  lose  their  wildness  of  carriage 
when  broken,  and  lapse  into  the  utmost  docility  ! 

Just  below  the  Chimneys  Emery  caught  sight  of  fish 
gathered  in  a  deep  pool,  under  the  foliage  of  a  cottonwood 
tree  which  had  fallen  into  the  river.  Our  most  tempting 
bait  failed  to  interest  them ;  so  Emery,  ever  clever  with 
hook  and  line,  "snagged"  one  just  to  teach  them  better 
manners.  It  was  a  Colorado  River  salmon  or  whitefish. 
That  evening  I  "snagged"  a  catfish  and  used  this  for 
salmon  bait,  a  fourteen-pound  specimen  rewarding  the 
attempt. 

These  salmon  were  old  friends  of  ours,  being  found  from 
one  end  to  the  other  of  the  Colorado,  and  on  all  its  tribu- 
taries. They  sometimes  weigh  twenty-five  or  thirty 
pounds,  and  are  common  at  twenty  pounds ;  being 
stockily  built  fish,  with  large,  flat  heads.  They  are  not 
gamey,  but  afford  a  lot  of  meat  with  a  very  satisfying 
flavour. 

On  September  1 1,  about  forty  miles  below  Green  River, 
we  passed  Black's  Fork,  a  tributary  entering  from  the  west. 
It  is  a  stream  of  considerable  length,  but  was  of  little 
volume  at  that  time.  The  banks  were  cliffs  about  300 
feet  high,  rugged,  dark,  and  overhanging.  Here  were  a 


1 6     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

half  dozen  eagles  and  many  old  nests  —  proof  enough, 
if  proof  were  needed,  that  we  were  in  a  little  visited 
country.  What  strong,  splendid  birds  they  were ;  how 
powerful  and  graceful  their  flight  as  they  circled  up,  and 
up,  into  the  clear  blue  sky  ! 

Our  next  camp  was  at  the  Holmes'  ranch,  a  few  miles 
below  Black's  Fork.  We  tried  to  buy  some  eggs  of 
Walter  Holmes,  and  were  told  that  we  could  have  them 
on  one  condition  —  that  we  visit  him  that  evening. 
This  was  a  price  we  were  only  too  glad  to  pay,  and  the 
evening  will  linger  long  in  our  memories. 

Mr.  Holmes  entertained  us  with  stories  of  hunting 
trips  —  after  big  game  in  the  wilds  of  Colorado ;  and 
among  the  lakes  of  the  Wind  River  Mountains,  the 
distant  source  of  the  Green  River.  Mrs.  Holmes  and 
two  young  ladies  entertained  us  with  music ;  and  Jimmy, 
much  to  our  surprise,  joined  in  with  a  full,  rich  baritone. 
It  was  late  that  night  when  we  rolled  ourselves  in  our 
blankets,  on  the  banks  twenty  feet  above  the  river. 

Next  morning  we  were  shown  a  group  of  Mrs.  Holmes' 
pets  —  several  young  rabbits  and  a  kitten,  romping 
together  in  the  utmost  good  fellowship.  The  rabbits 
had  been  rescued  from  a  watery  grave  in  an  irrigation 
ditch  and  carefully  nursed  back  to  life.  We  helped  her 
search  for  a  lame  wild  duck  that  had  spurned  the  oifer 
of  a  good  home  with  civilized  ducklings,  and  had  taken 
to  the  sage-brush.  Mrs.  Holmes'  love  of  wild  animals, 


INTERESTING  SIGHTS  OF  SOUTHERN  WYOMING  17 

however,  failed  to  include  the  bald-headed  eagle  that 
had  shown  such  an  appetite  for  her  spring  chickens. 

A  few  miles  below  this  ranch  we  passed  Bridger  Cross- 
ing, a  ford  on  an  old  trail  through  southern  Wyoming. 
In  pioneer  days  Jim  Bridger's  home  was  on  this  very 
spot.  But  those  romantic  days  are  long  since  past ; 
and  where  this  world-famous  scout  once  watched  through 
the  loopholes  of  his  barricade,  was  an  amazed  youngster 
ten  or  eleven  years  old  who  gazed  on  us,  then  ran  to  the 
cabin  and  emerged  with  a  rifle  in  his  hands.  We  thought 
little  of  this  incident  at  the  time,  but  later  we  met  the 
father  of  the  boy  and  were  told  that  the  children  had  been 
left  alone  with  the  small  boy  as  their  only  protector,  and 
that  he  stood  ready  to  defend  the  home  against  any 
possible  marauders.  No  doubt  we  looked  bad  enough 
to  him. 

Just  below  the  ford  the  channel  widened,  and  the 
river  became  very  shallow,  the  low  rolling  hills  falling 
away  into  a  wide  green  prairie.  We  camped  that  night  on 
a  small  island,  low  and  treeless,  but  covered  with  deep, 
rank  grass.  Next  morning  our  sleeping-bags  were  wet 
with  frost  and  dew.  A  hard  pull  against  a  heavy  wind 
between  gradually  deepening  rocky  banks  made  us  more 
than  glad  to  pitch  camp  at  noon  a  short  distance  above 
the  mouth  of  Henry's  Fork,  a  considerable  stream  flowing 
from  the  west.  In  the  afternoon  Emery  and  I  decided 
to  walk  to  Linwood,  lying  just  across  the  Utah  line,  four 


1 8     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

miles  up  Henry's  Fork.  Jimmy  preferred  to  remain 
with  the  boats. 

Between  the  river  and  a  low  mesa  lay  a  large  ranch  of 
a  different  appearance  from  those  others  which  we  had 
passed.  Those  past  were  cattle  ranches,  with  stock  on 
the  open  range,  and  with  little  ground  fit  for  cultivation, 
owing  to  the  elevation.  Here  we  found  great,  broad  acres, 
fenced  and  cultivated,  with  thoroughbred  stock  —  horses 
and  cattle  —  contentedly  grazing. 

This  pastoral  scene,  with  a  background  of  rugged 
mountains,  appealed  strongly  to  our  photographic  in- 
stincts. After  three  or  four  exposures,  we  climbed  the 
farthest  fence  and  passing  from  alfalfa  to  sage-brush  in 
one  step,  were  at  the  foot  of  the  mesa. 

Climbing  to  the  summit,  we  beheld  the  village  in  the 
distance,  in  a  beautiful  green  valley  —  a  splendid  example 
of  Mormon  irrigation  and  farming  methods.  Linwood 
proved  to  be  the  market-place  for  all  the  ranchers  of  this 
region.  Dotting  the  foot-hills  where  water  was  less  plen- 
tiful were  occasional  cabins,  set  down  in  the  middle  of 
hay  ranches.  All  this  husbandry  only  emphasized  the 
surrounding  desolation.  Just  beyond,  dark  in  the  south- 
ern sky,  rose  the  great  peaks  of  the  Uintah  range,  the 
mountains  we  were  so  soon  to  enter. 

Storm-clouds  had  been  gathering  about  one  great  snow- 
covered  peak,  far  in  the  distance.  These  clouds  spread 
and  darkened,  moving  rapidly  forward.  We  had  taken 


INTERESTING  SIGHTS  OF  SOUTHERN  WYOMING  19 

the  hint  and  were  already  making  all  possible  haste  tow- 
ard the  town,j  hoping  to  reach  it  before  the  storm  broke. 
But  it  was  useless.  Long  before  we  had  gained  the  edge 
of  the  valley  the  rain  had  commenced  in  the  mountains, 
—  small  local  storms,  resembling  delicate  violet-coloured 
veils,  hung  in  the  dense  pall  of  the  clouds.  There  were 
far  flashes  of  lightning,  and  the  subdued  roar  of  distant 
thunder,  rapidly  growing  louder  as  the  storm  approached. 
Unable  to  escape  a  drenching,  we  paused  a  moment  to 
wonder  at  the  sight ;  to  marvel  —  and  shrink  a  little 
too  —  at  the  wild,  incessant  lightning.  The  peaks  them- 
selves seemed  to  be  tumbling  together,  such  was  the 
continuous  roar  of  thunder,  punctuated  by  frequent 
deafening  crashes. 

Then  the  storm  came  down  upon  us.  Such  torrents 
of  rain  we  have  seldom  witnessed  :  such  gusts  of  driving 
wind  !  At  times  we  could  scarcely  make  headway  against 
it,  but  after  most  strenuous  effort  we  neared  the  village. 
We  hoped  to  find  shelter  under  a  bridge,  but  found  in- 
numerable muddy  streams  running  through  the  planks. 
So  we  resumed  our  plodding,  slipping  and  sliding  in  the 
black,  bottomless  mud. 

The  storm  by  this  time  had  passed  as  quickly  as  it 
came.  Wet  to  our  skins,  we  crawled  into  the  little  store 
and  post-office  combined,  and  found  it  filled  with  ranch 
hands,  waiting  for  the  weekly  mail.  We  made  a  few 
purchases,  wrote  some  letters,  then  went  to  a  large  board- 


20     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

ing-house  near  by  and  fortified  ourselves  with  a  generous, 
hot  supper. 

There  were  comments  by  some  of  the  men  on  our 
venture,  but  they  lacked  the  true  Green  River  tang. 
Here,  close  to  the  upper  canyons,  the  unreasonable  fear 
of  the  rapids  gave  way  to  a  reasonable  respect  for  them. 
Here  we  heard  again  of  the  two  young  men  from  St. 
Louis,  and  the  mishaps  that  had  befallen  them.  Here 
too  we  were  to  hear  for  the  first  time  of  the  two  Snyders, 
father  and  son,  and  the  misfortunes  that  had  overtaken 
them  in  Lodore  Canyon,  twenty  years  before.  We  were 
to  hear  more  of  these  men  later. 

We  made  what  haste  we  could  back  to  our  boats, 
soon  being  overtaken  by  a  horseman,  a  big-hearted 
Swede  who  insisted  on  carrying  our  load  as  long  as  we 
were  going  in  his  direction.  How  many  just  such  in- 
stances of  kindliness  we  were  to  experience  on  our  journey 
down  the  river  !  How  the  West  abounds  with  such  men  ! 
It  was  dark  when  he  left  us  a  mile  from  the  river.  Here 
there  was  no  road  to  follow,  and  we  found  that  what  had 
been  numerous  dry  gullies  before  were  now  streams  of 
muddy  water.  Two  or  three  of  these  streams  had  to  be 
crossed,  and  we  had  a  disagreeable  half  hour  in  a  marsh. 
Finally  we  reached  the  river,  but  not  at  the  point  where 
we  had  left  our  boats.  We  were  uncertain  whether  the 
camp  was  above  or  below  us,  and  called  loudly  for  Jimmy, 
but  received  no  answer. 


INTERESTING  SIGHTS  OF  SOUTHERN  WYOMING  21 

Emery  felt  sure  that  camp  was  upstream.  So  up- 
stream we  went,  keeping  back  of  the  bushes  that 
fringed  the  banks,  carefully  searching  for  a  sign.  After 
a  few  minutes'  hunt  we  heard  a  sound  :  a  subdued  rumble, 
not  unlike  the  distant  thunder  heard  that  afternoon,  or 
of  boats  being  dragged  over  the  pebbles.  What  could  it 
be  ?  We  listened  again,  carefully  this  time,  and  dis- 
covered that  it  came  from  a  point  about  thirty  feet  away, 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bushes.  It  could  be  only  one 
thing.  Jimmy's  snore  had  brought  us  home  ! 

Hurriedly  securing  some  dry  clothes  from  the  rubber 
sacks,  which  contained  our  sleeping-bags  as  well,  we  made 
a  quick  change,  and  slid  into  the  beds,  inflating  the  air 
mattresses  with  our  lungs  after  we  were  inside.  Then  we 
lay  down  contentedly  to  rest. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE    GATEWAY    OF    ALL   THE    CANYONS 

WE  awoke  the  next  morning  full  of  anticipation. 
Something  new  lay  ahead  of  us,  a  promise  of  variety. 
In  plain  sight  of  our  camp  lay  the  entrance  to  Flaming 
Gorge,  the  gateway  to  the  entire  series  of  canyons. 
Hurriedly  finishing  our  camp  duties,  we  loaded  the  boats, 
fastened  down  the  hatches,  and  shoved  off  into  the  cur- 
rent, eager  to  be  on  our  way. 

It  was  cloudy  overhead  and  looked  as  if  we  were  to 
have  more  rain.  Even  then  it  must  have  been  raining 
away  to  the  north,  for  a  dirty,  clay-colored  torrent  rushed 
through  the  dry  arroyo  of  the  night  before,  a  stream  large 
enough  to  discolour  the  water  of  the  Green  itself.  But  we 
thought  little  of  this.  We  were  used  to  seeing  muddy 
water  in  the  Colorado's  gorges  ;  in  fact  we  were  surprised 
to  find  clear  water  at  all,  even  in  the  Green  River.  Row- 
ing downstream  we  found  that  the  country  sloped  gently 
towards  the  mountains.  The  river  skirted  the  edge  of 
these  foot-hills  as  if  looking  for  a  possible  escape,  then 
turned  and  entered  the  mountain  at  a  sharp  angle.  The 

22 


THE  GATEWAY  OF  ALL  THE  CANYONS  23 

walls  sloped  back  considerably  at  first,  and  there  was  a 
little  shore  on  either  side. 

Somewhere  near  this  point  runs  the  dividing  line  of 
Wyoming  and  Utah. 

We  considered  the  gateway  a  subject  worthy  of  a 
motion  picture,  if  taken  from  the  deck  of  the  boat ;  but 
doubted  if  it  would  be  a  success  owing  to  the  condition 
of  the  light  and  the  motion  of  the  boat.  Still  it  was 
considered  worthy  of  a  trial,  and  the  film  was  run  through. 

The  colour  of  the  rocks  at  the  entrance  was  a  light  red, 
but  not  out  of  the  ordinary  in  brilliancy.  The  rock 
formation  was  stratified,  but  displaced ;  standing  at  an 
angle  and  flexed  over  on  top  with  a  ragged  break  here  and 
there,  showing  plainly  the  great  pressure  to  which  the 
rocks  had  been  subjected.  The  upheaval  was  not  violent, 
the  scientists  tell  us,  but  slow  and  even,  allowing  the 
river  to  maintain  its  old  channel,  sawing  its  way  through 
the  sandstone.  The  broken  canyon  walls,  when  well 
inside  the  gorge,  were  about  600  to  700  feet  high.  The 
mountains  beyond  and  on  either  side  were  much  higher. 
The  growth  on  the  mountain  sides  was  principally  ever- 
green ;  Douglas  fir,  the  bull-pine  and  yellow  pine.  There 
was  a  species  of  juniper,  somewhat  different  from  the  Utah 
juniper,  with  which  we  were  familiar  at  the  Grand  Canyon. 
Bushes  and  undergrowth  were  dense  above  the  steep 
canyon  walls,  which  were  bare.  Willows,  alder-thickets, 
and  a  few  cottonwood  trees  lined  the  shores. 


24  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

Meanwhile  the  current  had  quickened,  almost  imper- 
ceptibly at  first,  but  enough  to  put  us  on  our  guard. 
While  there  were  no  rapids,  use  was  made  of  what  swift 
water  we  found  by  practising  on  the  method  we  would 
use  in  making  a  passage  through  the  bad  rapids.  As  to 
this  method,  unused  as  yet  by  either  of  us,  we  had  re- 
ceived careful  verbal  instruction  from  Mr.  Stone,  who  had 
made  the  trip  two  years  before  our  own  venture ;  and 
from  other  friends  of  Nathan  Galloway,  the  trapper, 
the  man  who  first  introduced  the  method  on  the  Green 
and  Colorado  rivers. 

Our  experience  on  water  of  any  kind  was  rather 
limited.  Emery  could  row  a  boat,  and  row  it  well,  before 
we  left  Green  River,  but  had  never  gone  over  any  large 
rapids.  While  he  was  not  nearly  so  large  or  heavy  as  I, 
—  weighing  no  more  than  130  pounds,  while  I  weighed  170 
pounds,  —  he  made  up  for  his  lighter  weight  by  a  quick- 
ness and  strength  that  often  surprised  me.  He  was 
always  neat  and  clever  in  his  method  of  handling  his  boat, 
taking  a  great  deal  of  pride  in  keeping  it  free  from  marks, 
and  avoiding  rocks  when  making  a  landing.  I  had  done 
very  little  rowing  before  leaving  Green  River,  so  little 
that  I  had  difficulty  in  getting  both  oars  in  the  water  at 
the  same  time.  Of  course  it  did  not  take  me  long  to 
learn  that ;  but  I  did  not  have  the  knack  of  making  clean 
landings,  and  bumped  many  rocks  that  my  brother 
missed.  Still  I  was  improving  all  the  time  and  was 


THE  GATEWAY  OF  ALL  THE  CANYONS  25 

anxious  to  get  into  the  rough  water,  feeling  sure  I  would 
get  through  somehow,  but  doing  my  best  in  the  mean- 
time to  get  the  knack  of  handling  the  boat  properly  before 
the  rough  water  was  reached. 

An  occasional  rock  would  stick  up  above  the  surface ; 
the  swift  water  would  rush  up  on  it,  or  drive  past  on  either 
side.  Instead  of  pulling  downstream  with  might  and 
main,  and  depending  on  a  steersman  with  a  sweep-oar 
to  keep  us  clear  of  obstructions  —  the  method  usually 
adopted  on  large  rivers,  and  by  the  earlier  parties  on  the 
Colorado  —  by  our  method  the  single  oarsman  reversed 
his  boat  so  that  it  was  turned  with  the  stern  downstream, 
giving  the  oarsman  a  view  of  what  was  ahead ;  then  by 
pulling  upstream  the  boat  was  held  in  check.  We 
allowed  ourselves  to  be  carried  in  a  direct  line  with  the 
rocks  ahead,  approaching  them  as  closely  as  we  dared ; 
then,  with  a  pull  on  one  oar,  the  boat  was  turned  slightly 
at  an  angle  to  the  current,  and  swung  to  one  side  or  the 
other ;  just  as  a  ferry  is  headed  into  the  current,  the  water 
itself  helping  to  force  it  across.  The  ferry  is  held  by  a 
cable ;  the  boat,  by  the  oarsman ;  the  results  are  quite 
similar. 

The  boats,  too,  were  somewhat  unusual  in  design,  hav- 
ing been  carefully  worked  out  by  Galloway  after  much  ex- 
perience with  the  problem,  and  after  building  many  boats. 
He  finally  settled  on  the  design  furnished  us  by  Mr. 
Stone.  The  flat  bottom,  sloping  up  from  the  centre  to 


26     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

either  end,  placed  the  boats  on  a  pivot  one  might  say,  so 
that  they  could  be  turned  very  quickly,  much  more 
quickly  than  if  they  had  had  a  keel.  There  was  a  four- 
foot  skag  or  keel  under  the  stern  end  of  the  boat,  but 
this  was  only  used  when  in  quiet  water ;  and  as  it  was 
never  replaced  after  being  once  removed  we  seldom  refer 
to  it.  Being  flat-bottomed,  they  drew  comparatively 
little  water,  a  matter  quite  important  on  low  water  such 
as  we  found  in  the  Green  River.  While  each  boat  carried 
a  weight  of  seven  hundred  pounds  in  addition  to  its  own 
five  hundred  pounds,  they  often  passed  over  rocks  less 
than  ten  inches  below  the  surface,  and  did  so  without 
touching.  While  the  boats  were  quite  large,  the  arched 
decks  made  them  look  even  larger.  A  considerable 
amount  of  material  could  be  stored  under  these  decks. 
The  only  part  of  the  boat  that  was  entirely  open  or  un- 
protected from  the  waves  was  the  cockpit,  or  mid-section 
occupied  by  the  oarsman.  This  was  only  large  enough 
for  one  man.  A  second  man  had  to  sit  on  the  deck  behind 
the  oarsman,  with  his  feet  hanging  into  the  cockpit. 
Jimmy  occupied  this  place  of  honour  as  we  drifted  through 
the  placid  water;  first  on  one  boat,  then  on  the  other, 
entertaining  us  meanwhile  with  his  songs. 

We  encountered  two  splashy  little  rapids  this  day, 
but  with  no  rocks,  or  any  dangerous  feature  whatever. 
Any  method,  or  none  at  all,  was  safe  enough  in  these 
rapids. 


THE  GATEWAY  OF  ALL  THE  CANYONS         27 

The  colouring  of  the  rocks  changed  as  we  proceeded, 
and  at  the  lower  end  of  the  short  canyon  we  saw  the  flam- 
ing patch  of  colour  that  had  suggested  its  name  to  Major 
Powell,  forty-two  years  before.  Intensified  on  that  occa- 
sion by  the  reflected  light  of  a  gorgeous  sunset,  it  must 
have  been  a  most  brilliant  spectacle. 

Two  beavers  slid  into  the  water  when  we  were  close 
beside  them,  then  rose  to  the  surface  to  stare  curiously 
when  we  had  passed.  We  left  them  undisturbed.  Some 
geese  decoyed  us  into  an  attempt  to  ambush  them,  but 
they  kept  always  just  out  of  reach  of  our  guns.  Wise 
fellows,  those  geese  ! 

A  geological  fault  accompanied  by  the  breaking  down 
of  the  walls  marks  the  division  between  Flaming  Gorge 
and  Horseshoe  Canyon,  which  immediately  follows. 
We  nooned  here,  opposite  a  deserted  cabin.  A  trail 
dropped  by  easy  stages  over  the  slope  on  the  east  side ; 
and  fresh  tracks  showed  that  sheep  had  recently  been 
driven  down  to  the  water's  edge. 

Passing  through  Horseshoe,  —  another  very  short 
canyon,  —  we  found  deep,  placid  pools,  and  sheer,  light 
red  walls  rising  about  four  hundred  feet  on  either  side, 
then  sloping  back  steeply  to  the  tree-covered  mountains. 
In  the  middle  of  this  canyon  Emery  was  startled  out  of  a 
day-dream  by  a  rock  falling  into  the  water  close  beside 
him,  with  never  a  sound  of  warning.  Years  spent  in  the 
canyons  had  accustomed  Emery  and  me  to  such  occur- 


28 

rences ;  but  Jimmy,  unused  to  great  gorges  and  towering 
cliffs,  was  much  impressed  by  this  incident.  After  all, 
it  is  only  the  unusual  that  is  terrible.  Jimmy  was  ready 
enough  to  take  his  chances  at  dodging  bricks  hurled  by  a 
San  Francisco  earthquake,  but  never  got  quite  used  to 
rocks  descending  from  a  source  altogether  out  of  sight. 
Small  wonder,  after  all  !  Later  we  were  to  experience 
more  of  this  thing,  and  on  a  scale  to  startle  a  stoic  ! 

We  halted  at  the  end  of  Horseshoe,  early  in  the  after- 
noon of  September  14,  1911,  one  week  out  from  Green 
River  City.  Camp  No.  6  was  pitched  on  a  gravelly 
shore  beside  Sheep  Creek,  a  clear  sparkling  stream, 
coming  in  from  the  slopes  of  the  Uintah  range.  Just 
above  us,  on  the  west,  rose  three  jagged  cliffs,  about 
five  hundred  feet  high,  reminding  one  by  their  shape  of  the 
Three  Brothers  of  Yosemite  Valley.  Here,  again,  we  were 
treated  to  another  wonderful  example  of  geologic  dis- 
placement, the  rocks  of  Horseshoe  Canyon  lying  in  level 
strata ;  while  those  of  Kingfisher,  which  followed,  were 
standing  on  end.  Sheep  Creek,  flowing  from  the  west, 
finds  an  easy  course  through  the  fault,  at  the  division 
of  the  canyons.  The  balance  of  this  day  was  spent  in 
carefully  packing  our  material  and  rearranging  it  in  our 
boats,  for  we  expected  hard  work  to  follow. 

Tempted  by  the  rippling  song  of  the  brook,  and  by 
tales  of  fish  to  be  found  therein,  we  spent  two  hours 
fishing  from  its  banks  on  the  morning  of  the  I5th.  But 


THE  GATEWAY  OF  ALL  THE  CANYONS         29 

the  foliage  of  overhanging  trees  and  shrubs  was  dense, 
making  it  difficult  to  cast  our  lines,  or  even  to  climb  along 
its  shores,  and  our  small  catch  of  two  trout,  which  were 
fried  with  a  strip  of  bacon  to  add  flavour,  only  whetted  our 
appetites  for  more. 

It  was  a  little  late  in  the  season  for  many  birds.  Here 
in  Kingfisher  Canyon  were  a  few  of  the  fish-catching  birds 
from  which  the  canyon  took  its  name.  There  were 
many  of  the  tireless  cliff-swallows  scattered  all  through 
these  canyons,  wheeling  and  darting,  ever  on  the  wing. 
These,  with  the  noisy  crested  jays,  an  occasional  "camp- 
robber,"  the  little  nuthatches,  the  cheerful  canyon  wren 
with  his  rollicking  song,  the  happy  water-ousel,  "kill- 
deer,"  and  road-runners  and  the  water  birds,  —  ducks, 
geese,  and  mud-hens,  with  an  occasional  crane,  —  made  up 
the  bird  life  seen  in  the  open  country  and  in  these  upper 
canyons.  Earlier  in  the  season  it  must  be  a  bird's  paradise, 
for  berries  and  seeds  would  then  be  plentiful. 

We  resumed  our  journey  at  10  A.M.,  a  very  short  run 
bringing  us  to  the  end  of  Kingfisher  Canyon.  The  three 
canyons  passed  through  approximate  hardly  more  than 
ten  miles  in  length,  different  names  being  given  for  geo- 
logical reasons,  as  they  really  form  only  one  canyon. 
The  walls  at  the  end  were  broken  down,  and  brilliantly 
tinted  talus  of  many  hues  covered  the  slopes,  the  different 
colours  intermingling  near  the  bottom.  The  canyon-walled 
river  turned  southeast  here,  and  continued  in  this  gen- 


30     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

eral  direction  for  many  miles,  but  with  many  twists 
and  turns. 

We  had  previously  been  informed  that  Red  Canyon, 
the  next  to  follow,  while  not  considered  bad  when  com- 
pared to  others,  gave  one  the  experience  most  necessary 
to  combat  the  rapids  farther  down.  It  was  not  without 
danger,  however,  as  a  review  of  previous  expeditions 
showed  :  some  had  lost  their  lives,  still  others,  their 
boats ;  and  one  of  Major  Powell's  parties  had  upset  a 
boat  in  a  Red  Canyon  rapid.  The  stage  of  water  was 
so  different  on  these  previous  attempts  that  their  experi- 
ences were  of  little  value  to  us  one  way  or  the  other.  A 
reference  to  pictures  taken  by  two  of  these  parties  showed 
us  there  was  considerable  more  water  when  they  went 
through  —  six,  and  even  eight  feet  higher  in  places. 
Possibly  this  would  be  the  best  stage  on  which  to  make 
the  voyage  in  heavy  boats.  The  unfortunate  ones  had 
taken  the  spring  rise,  or  flood  water,  with  disastrous 
results  to  themselves  or  their  boats. 

We  soon  found  that  our  passage  was  to  be  hard  on 
account  of  having  too  little  water.  In  the  quiet  water 
above  we  had  been  seldom  bothered  with  shoals ;  but 
now  that  we  were  in  swifter  water,  there  was  scarcely 
any  depth  to  it  at  all,  except  in  the  quiet  pools  between 
the  rapids. 

For  a  description  of  our  passage  through  this  upper 
end  of  Red  Canyon  we  refer  to  our  journal  :  sketchy 


THE  GATEWAY  OF  ALL  THE  CANYONS         31 

notes  jotted  down,  usually  in  the  evening  just  before 
retiring,  by  the  light  of  a  camp-fire,  or  the  flickering  flame 
of  a  candle.  Under  the  date  of  Friday,  September  the 
1 5th,  we  find  the  following  : 

"End  of  Kingfisher:  long,  quiet  pools  and  shoals 
where  we  grounded  a  few  times ;  several  small,  splashy 
rapids ;  then  a  larger  one  near  an  old  boat  landing. 
Looked  the  rapid  over  from  the  shore.  Jim  remained 
at  the  lower  end  with  a  life-preserver  on  a  rope,  while  we 
ran  the  rapid.  Struck  one  or  two  rocks,  lightly ;  but 
made  the  run  in  safety." 

"  At  the  third  rapid  we  saw  some  geese  —  but  they 
got  away.  At  noon  we  ate  a  cold  lunch  and  because  of 
the  low  water  removed  the  skags,  carrying  them  in  the 
cockpit.  The  scenery  in  upper  Red  Canyon  is  impres- 
sive :  pines  and  fir  come  down  on  the  sloping  sides  to  the 
river's  edge ;  the  rocks  are  reddish  brown  in  colour,  often 
broken  in  squares,  and  looking  like  great  building  blocks 
piled  one  upon  another.  The  canyon  is  about  fifteen 
hundred  feet  deep ;  the  river  is  clear  again,  and  averages 
about  two  hundred  feet  in  width.  We  have  seen  a  few 
deer  tracks,  but  have  not  seen  any  deer.  We  also  saw 
some  jumping  trout  in  a  splashy  little  rapid.  Doubtless 
they  came  from  a  little  creek,  close  by,  for  we  never  heard 
of  trout  being  found  in  the  Green  River." 

"  We  made  a  motion  picture,  while  dropping  our  boats 
down  with  lines,  over  the  first  rapid  we  considered  bad. 


32     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

Emery  remained  in  the  boats,  keeping  clear  of  the  rocks 
with  a  pole.  Powell's  second  party  records  an  upset  here." 
"  We  passed  Kettle  Creek  about  5  P.M.  In  the  fifth  rapid 
below  Kettle  Creek  I  got  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  river 
and  was  carried  into  a  very  rocky  rapid  —  the  worst  so  far 
encountered.  I  touched  a  rock  or  two  at  the  start, 
but  made  the  run  in  safety ;  while  Emery  ran  the  op- 
posite side  without  trouble.  We  camped  beside  a  small 
stream  on  the  south,  where  there  were  signs  of  an  old 
camp." 

"  Saturday,  September  16.  Clear  and  cold  in  the  early 
morning.  Started  about  9  A.M.  Lined  our  boats  past 
a  difficult  rapid.  Too  many  rocks,  not  enough  water. 
Two  or  three  miles  below  this  I  had  some  difficulty  in  a 
rapid,  as  the  pin  of  a  rowlock  lifted  out  of  the  socket 
when  in  the  middle  of  rough  water.  Emery  snapped  a 
picture  just  as  it  happened.  A  little  later  E.  C.1  ran 
a  rocky  rapid,  but  had  so  much  trouble  that  we  con- 
cluded to  line  my  boat.  Noon.  Just  a  cold  lunch,  but 
with  hot  coffee  from  the  vacuum  bottles.  Then  at  it 
again." 

"  The  scenery  is  wonderful ;  the  canyon  is  deeper  than 
above ;  the  river  is  swift  and  has  a  decided  drop.  We 
proceed  cautiously,  and  make  slow  progress.  We  camp 

1  The  initials  E.  C.  apply  to  my  brother,  Emery  C.  Kolb ;  E.  L.  to  myself.  These 
initials  are  frequently  used  in  this  text.  For  several  years  the  nick-name  "  Ed  "  has 
been  applied  to  me,  and  in  my  brothers'  narratives  I  usually  figure  as  Ed. 


THE  GATEWAY  OF  ALL  THE  CANYONS  33 

for  the  day  on  the  north  side  close  to  a  little,  dry  gully, 
on  a  level  sage  and  bunch-grass  covered  bottom  back 
from  the  river's  edge.  An  abruptly  descending  canyon 
banked  with  small  cottonwood  trees  coming  in  from  the 
opposite  side  contains  a  small  stream.  Put  up  our  tent 
for  the  second  time  since  leaving  Green  River,  Wyoming. 
We  are  all  weary,  and  glad  to-morrow  is  Sunday  —  a  day 
of  rest." 

"  Sunday ,  September  77.  E.  C.  and  I  follow  a  fresh 
deer  track  up  a  game  trail  and  get  —  a  rabbit.  Climb  out 
about  130x3  feet  above  the  river  to  the  top  of  the 
narrow  canyon.  Here  is  a  sloping  plateau,  dotted  with 
bunch-grass  and  grease-wood,  a  fourth  of  a  mile  wide. 
Then  rounded  mountains  rise  beyond  the  plateau,  some 
of  the  peaks  reaching  a  height  of  4000  feet  above  the  river. 
The  opposite  side  is  much  the  same,  but  with  a  wider 
plateau.  We  had  no  idea  before  what  a  wonderful  coun- 
try this  is.  It  is  a  picture  to  tempt  an  artist.  High  on 
the  mountain  tops  is  the  dark  blue-green  of  pines  and 
firs,  reds  and  yellows  are  mixed  in  the  quaking  aspen,  — 
for  the  frost  comes  early  enough  to  catch  the  sap  in  the 
leaves  ;  little  openings,  or  parks  with  no  trees,  are  tinted 
a  beautiful  soft  gray;  'brownstone  fronts'  are  found  in 
the  canyon  walls ;  and  a  very  light  green  in  the  willow- 
leafed  cottonwoods  at  the  river's  edge,  and  in  all  side 
canyons  where  there  is  a  running  stream.  The  river 
glistens  in  the  sunlight,  as  it  winds  around  the  base  of  the 


34     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

wall  on  which  we  stand,  and  then  disappears  around  a 
bend  in  the  canyon.  Turn  where  we  will,  we  see  no  sign 
of  an  opening,  nothing  but  the  rounded  tops  of  wooded 
mountains,  red  and  green,  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  until 
they  disappear  in  the  hazy  blue.  Finally  Emery's 
keen  eyes,  aided  by  the  binoculars,  discover  a  log  cabin 
at  the  foot  of  a  mountain,  on  the  plateau  opposite  us, 
about  three  miles  away." 

"  We  hurry  back  to  camp  and  write  some  letters  ;  then 
Jim  and  I  cross  the  river  and  climb  out  over  the  rocky 
walls  to  the  plateau  above.  In  two  hours  we  reach  the 
cabin.  It  is  new  —  not  yet  finished.  A  woman  and  four 
children  are  looking  over  a  garden  when  we  arrive.  They 
are  a  little  frightened  at  first,  but  soon  recover.  The 
woman  gladly  promises  to  take  out  our  mail  when  they 
go  to  the  nearest  town,  which  happens  to  be  Vernal, 
Utah,  forty-five  miles  away.  Three  other  families  live 
near  by,  all  recently  moved  in  from  Vernal.  The  woman 
tells  us  that  Galloway  hunts  bear  in  these  timbered  moun- 
tains, and  has  killed  some  with  a  price  on  their  heads  - 
bear  with  a  perverted  taste  for  fresh  beef."  l 


1  It  is  not  unusual  for  certain  individual  animals  to  be  outlawed  or  to  have  a  price 
set  on  their  heads  by  the  stockmen's  associations,  in  addition  to  the  regular  bounty 
paid  by  the  counties.  At  the  time  this  is  written  there  is  a  standing  reward  of  $200 
for  a  certain  "lobo,"  or  timber  wolf  which  roams  over  the  Kaibab  Forest  directly 
opposite  our  home  in  the  Grand  Canyon.  In  addition  to  this  there  is  a  bounty  of  $10 
offered  by  the  county.  This  wolf  has  taken  to  killing  colts  and  occasional  full-grown 
horses,  in  addition  to  his  regular  diet  of  yearling  calves. 


THE  GATEWAY  OF  ALL  THE  CANYONS         35 

"  Thanking  the  woman,  we  make  our  way  back  to  the 
river.  We  see  some  dried-out  elk  horns  along  our  trail ; 
though  it  is  doubtful  if  elk  get  this  far  south  at  present. 
A  deer  trail,  leading  down  a  ravine,  makes  our  homeward 
journey  much  easier.  It  has  turned  quite  cold  this 
evening,  after  sunset.  We  finish  our  notes  and  prepare 
to  roll  into  our  beds  a  little  earlier  than  usual." 


CHAPTER  IV 

SUSPICIOUS    HOSTS 

WE  awoke  bright  and  early  the  next  morning,  much 
refreshed  by  our  day  of  rest  and  variety.  With  an  early 
start  we  were  soon  pulling  down  the  river,  and  noon  found 
us  several  miles  below  the  camp,  having  run  eleven  rapids 
with  no  particular  difficulty.  A  reference  in  my  notes 
reads:  "Last  one  has  a  thousand  rocks,  and  we  could 
not  miss  them  all.  My  rowing  is  improving,  and  we 
both  got  through  fairly  well."  In  the  afternoon  they 
continued  to  come  —  an  endless  succession  of  small  rapids, 
with  here  and  there  a  larger  one.  The  canyon  was  similar 
to  that  at  our  camp  above,  dark  red  walls  with  occasional 
pines  on  the  ledges,  —  a  most  charming  combination 
of  colour.  At  2.30  P.M.  we  reached  Ashley  Falls,  a  rapid 
we  had  been  expecting  to  see  for  some  time.  It  was  a 
place  of  singular  beauty.  A  dozen  immense  rocks  had 
fallen  from  the  cliff  on  the  left,  almost  completely  block- 
ing the  channel  —  or  so  it  seemed  from  one  point  of  view. 
But  there  was  a  crooked  channel,  not  more  than  twelve 

36 


SUSPICIOUS  HOSTS  37 

feet  wide  in  places,  through  which  the  water  shot  like  a 
stream  from  a  nozzle. 

We  wanted  a  motion  picture  of  our  dash  through  the 
chute.  But  the  location  for  the  camera  was  hard  to 
secure,  for  a  sheer  bank  of  rock  or  low  wall  prevented  us 
from  climbing  out  on  the  right  side.  We  overcame  this 
by  landing  on  a  little  bank  at  the  base  of  the  wall  and  by 
dropping  a  boat  down  with  a  line  to  the  head  of  the 
rapid,  where  a  break  occurred  in  the  wall.  Jimmy  was 
left  with  the  camera,  the  boat  was  pulled  back,  and  we 
prepared  to  run  the  rapid. 

We  first  had  to  pass  between  two  square  rocks  rising 
eight  feet  above  the  water  so  close  together  that  we  could 
not  use  the  oars  ;  then,  when  past  these,  pull  ten  feet  to 
the  right  in  order  to  clear  the  large  rock  at  the  end  of 
the  main  dam,  or  barrier,  not  more  than  twenty  feet  be- 
low. To  pull  down  bow  first  and  try  to  make  the  turn, 
would  mean  to  smash  broadside  against  this  rock.  It 
could  only  be  done  by  dropping  stern  first,  and  pulling 
to  the  right  under  the  protection  of  the  first  rocks  ;  though 
it  was  doubtful  if  even  this  could  be  accomplished,  the 
current  was  so  swift.  The  Defiance  was  ready  first,  the 
Edith  was  to  follow  as  closely  as  safety  allowed. 

Almost  before  I  knew  it  I  was  in  the  narrow  channel, 
so  close  to  the  right  rock  that  I  had  to  ship  that  oar, 
and  pull  altogether  on  the  left  one.  As  soon  as  I  was 
through  I  made  a  few  quick  strokes,  but  the  current  was 


38     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

too  strong  for  me ;  and  a  corner  of  the  stern  struck  with 
a  bang  when  I  was  almost  clear.  She  paused  as  a  wave 
rolled  over  the  decks,  then  rose  quickly;  a  side  current 
caught  the  boat,  whirling  it  around,  and  the  bow  struck. 
I  was  still  pulling  with  all  my  might,  but  everything 
happened  so  quickly,  —  with  the  boat  whirling  first  this 
way,  then  that,  —  that  my  efforts  were  almost  useless. 
But  after  that  second  strike  I  did  get  in  a  few  strokes, 
and  pulled  into  the  quiet  pool  below  the  line  of  boulders. 

Emery  held  his  boat  in  better  position  than  I  had  done, 
and  it  looked  for  a  while  as  if  he  would  make  it.  But 
the  Edith  struck  on  the  stern,  much  as  mine  had  done. 
Then  he  pulled  clear  and  joined  me  in  the  shelter  of  the 
large  rock,  as  cool  and  smiling  as  if  he  had  been  rowing 
on  a  mill-pond.  We  were  delighted  to  find  that  our  boats 
had  suffered  no  damage  from  the  blows  they  had  received. 
Striking  on  the  ends  as  they  did,  the  shock  was  dis- 
tributed throughout  the  whole  boat. 

This  completed  our  run  for  that  day,  and  we  went 
into  camp  just  below  the  "Falls."  Emery  painted  the 
name  Edith  on  the  bow  of  his  boat,  at  this  camp. 
The  name  was >  given  in  honour  of  his  four-year-old  daugh- 
ter, waiting  for  us  at  the  Grand  Canyon.  I  remarked 
that  as  no  one  loved  me,  I  would  name  my  boat  the 
Defiance.  But  I  hesitated  about  putting  this  name 
on  the  bow.  I  would  look  rather  foolish,  I  thought,  if 
the  Defiance  should  be  wrecked  in  the  first  bad  rapid. 


SUSPICIOUS  HOSTS  39 

So  the  christening  of  my  boat  was  left  until  such  time  as 
she  should  have  earned  the  title,  although  she  was  con- 
stantly referred  to  as  the  Defiance. 

We  remained  until  noon  of  the  following  day  at  Ashley 
Falls,  exploring,  repairing,  and  photographing  this  pic- 
turesque spot.  The  canyon  walls  here  dropped  down  to 
beautiful,  rolling  foot-hills  eight  or  nine  hundred  feet 
high,  tree  covered  as  before  but  more  open.  The  diver- 
sity of  rocks  and  hills  was  alluring.  There  was  work  to 
be  done  and  no  pleasanter  spot  could  be  found  in  which 
to  do  it.  Among  other  things  that  had  to  be  looked  after 
were  some  adjustments  to  the  motion-picture  camera  — 
usually  referred  to  by  us  as  the  M.  P.  C.  —  this  deli- 
cate work  always  falling  to  Emery,  for  he  alone  could 
do  it. 

There  was  much  to  interest  us  here.  Major  Powell 
reported  finding  the  name  "Ashley"  painted  under  an 
overhanging  rock  on  the  left  side  of  the  river.  Under- 
neath was  a  date,  rather  indistinct,  but  found  to  have 
been  1825,  by  Dellenbaugh,  after  carefully  tracing  the 
career  of  Colonel  Ashley  who  was  responsible  for  the 
record.  Accompanied  by  a  number  of  trappers,  he  made 
the  passage  through  this  canyon  at  that  early  day.  We 
found  a  trace  of  the  record.  There  were  three  letters  — 
A-s-h  —  the  first  two  quite  distinct,  and  underneath  were 
two  black  spots.  It  must  have  been  pretty  good  paint 
to  leave  a  trace  after  eighty-six  years  ! 


40     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

Resuming  our  journey  we  passed  into  deep  canyon 
again,  —  the  deepest  we  had  found  up  to  this  time,  —  with 
steeply  sloping,  verdure-covered  walls  about  2700 feet  high. 
The  rapids  still  continued.  At  one  rapid  the  remark  was 
made  that  "Two  feet  of  water  would  cover  two  hundred 
rocks  so  that  our  boats  would  pass  over  them."  But  we 
did  not  have  the  two  feet  needed. 

We  had  previously  been  informed  that  some  of  these 
mountains  were  the  hiding-places  of  men  who  were 
"wanted"  in  the  three  states  which  bordered  near  here. 
Some  escaping  prisoners  had  also  been  traced  to  the  moun- 
tains in  this  direction ;  then  all  tracks  had  ceased.  The 
few  peaceable  ranchers  who  lived  in  these  mountains 
were  much  alarmed  over  these  reports.  We  found  one 
such  rancher  on  the  plateau  above  the  canyon,  whom  we 
will  call  Johnson  for  convenience,  —  living  in  one  of  the 
upper  canyons.  He  sold  us  some  provisions.  In  return 
he  asked  us  to  help  him  swim  some  of  his  horses  across 
the  river.  He  said  the  high  water  had  taken  out  his  own 
boat.  The  horses  were  rounded  up  in  a  mountain-hidden 
valley  and  driven  into  the  water  ahead  of  the  boat. 
After  securing  the  horses,  Johnson's  welcome  seemed  to 
turn  to  suspicion  and  he  questioned  our  reasons  for  being 
there,  wanting  to  know  what  we  could  find  in  that  wild 
country  to  interest  us.  Johnson's  sons,  of  whom  there 
were  several,  seemed  to  put  in  most  of  their  time  at  hunt- 
ing and  trapping,  never  leaving  the  house  without  a  gun. 


Copyright  by  Koto  bros. 


THE  ROCKS  WERE  DARK  RED:   OCCASIONAL  PINES  GREW  ON  THE  LEDGES,  MAKING 
A   CHARMING   COMBINATION  OF   COLOUR. 


SUSPICIOUS  HOSTS  41 

The  cabin  home  looked  like  an  arsenal,  revolvers  and  guns 
hanging  on  all  the  walls  —  even  his  daughters  being  famil- 
iar with  their  use.  Although  we  had  been  very  well 
treated  after  all,  Mrs.  Johnson  especially  having  been 
very  kind  to  us,  we  felt  just  a  little  relieved  when  the 
Johnson  ranch  was  left  behind.  We  use,  in  fact,  a  ficti- 
tious name,  not  caring  to  visit  on  them  the  suspicions 
we  ourselves  felt  in  return. 

Another  morning  passed  in  repairing  the  M.  P.  camera, 
and  another  afternoon's  work  was  necessary  to  get  us 
out  of  the  walls  and  the  rapids  of  Red  Canyon.  But  on 
the  evening  of  the  2Oth,  we  did  get  out,  and  pulled  into 
an  open  country  known  as  Brown's  Park,  one  week  after 
entering  Flaming  Gorge.  It  had  not  been  very  fast 
travelling;  but  we  were  through,  and  with  no  mishap 
more  serious  than  a  split  board  on  the  side  of  my  boat. 
Under  favourable  conditions,  and  in  experienced  hands, 
this  distance  might  have  been  covered  in  three  days. 
But  meanwhile,  we  were  gaining  a  lot  of  experience. 

About  the  lower  end  of  Red  Canyon  the  river  turned 
directly  east,  paralleling  the  northern  boundary  of  Utah, 
and  continued  to  flow  in  this  general  direction  until  it 
crossed  into  Colorado. 

On  emerging  from  Red  Canyon  we  spied  a  ranch 
house  or  log  cabin  close  to  the  river.  The  doors  were 
open  and  there  were  many  tracks  in  the  sand,  so  we 
thought  some  one  must  be  about.  On  approaching  the 


42     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

house,  however,  we  found  the  place  was  deserted,  but 
with  furniture,  books,  and  pictures  piled  on  the  floor  in 
the  utmost  confusion,  as  if  the  occupants  had  left  in  a 
great  hurry.  This  surmise  afterward  proved  to  be  cor- 
rect ;  for  we  learned  that  the  rancher  had  been  murdered 
for  his  money,  his  body  having  been  found  in  a  boat 
farther  down  the  river.  Suspicion  pointed  to  an  old 
employee  who  had  been  seen  lurking  near  the  place. 
He  was  traced  to  the  railroad,  over  a  hundred  miles  to  the 
north ;  but  made  his  escape  and  was  never  caught. 

We  found  Brown's  Park,  once  known  as  Brown's  Hole, 
to  be  a  beautiful  valley  several  miles  in  width,  and 
thirty-five  or  forty  miles  in  length.  The  upper  end  of 
the  valley  was  rugged  in  places,  with  rocky  hills  two  or 
three  hundred  feet  high.  To  the  south,  a  few  miles  away, 
were  the  mountains,  a  continuation  of  those  we  had  come 
through.  We  saw  many  cattle  scattered  over  some  of 
these  rocky  hills,  grazing  on  the  bunch-grass.  At  one 
place  our  course  led  us  through  a  little  canyon  about 
two  miles  long,  and  scarcely  more  than  two  hundred 
feet  deep.  This  was  Swallow  Canyon  —  a  name  suggested 
by  the  many  birds  of  that  species  which  had  covered  the 
canyon's  walls  with  their  little  clay  nests.  The  open- 
ings of  some  of  these  nests  were  so  small  that  it  scarcely 
seemed  possible  for  a  bird  to  enter. 

The  water  was  deep  and  quiet  in  this  short  canyon, 
and  a  hard  wind  blowing  up  the  stream  made  it  difficult 


SUSPICIOUS  HOSTS  43 

for  us  to  gain  any  headway.  In  this  case,  too,  the  forms 
of  the  boat  were  against  us.  With  the  keel  removed  and 
with  their  high  sides  catching  the  wind,  they  were  carried 
back  and  forth  like  small  balloons.  Well,  we  could  put 
up  with  it  for  a  while,  for  those  very  features  would 
prove  most  valuable  in  the  rough-water  canyons  which 
were  to  follow  ! 

Emerging  from  the  canyon  at  last,  we  saw  a  ferry 
loaded  with  sheep  crossing  the  stream.  On  the  left 
shore  was  a  large  corral,  also  filled  with  sheep  which  a 
half  dozen  men  were  driving  back  and  forth  into  dif- 
ferent compartments.  Later  these  men  told  us  there 
were  2400  sheep  in  the  flock.  We  took  their  word  for  it, 
making  no  attempt  to  count  them.  The  foreman  of 
the  ranch  agreed  to  sell  us  some  sugar  and  honey,  — 
these  two  articles  being  a  welcome  addition  to  our  list 
of  supplies,  which  were  beginning  to  show  the  effects 
of  our  voracious  appetites. 

We  found  many  other  log  cabins  and  ranches  as  we 
proceeded.  Some  of  them  were  deserted ;  at  others  men 
were  busily  engaged  in  cutting  hay  or  the  wild  grass  that 
grew  in  the  bottoms.  The  fragrance  of  new-mown  hay 
was  in  the  air.  Young  boys  and  women  were  among 
these  busy  workers,  some  of  the  women  being  seated  on 
large  harvesters,  handling  the  horses  with  as  much  dex- 
terity as  any  of  the  men. 

The  entire  trip  through  this  pretty  valley  was  full 


44     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

of  interest.  We  were  hailed  from  the  shore  by  some  of 
the  hay  ranchers,  it  being  a  novel  sight  to  them  to  see  a 
river  expedition.  At  one  or  two  of  these  places  we 
asked  the  reason  for  the  deserted  ranches  above,  and 
were  given  evasive  answers.  Finally  we  were  told  that 
cattle  rustlers  from  the  mountains  made  it  so  hard  for 
the  ranchers  in  the  valleys  that  there  was  nothing  for 
them  to  do  but  get  out.  They  told  us,  also,  that  we  were 
fortunate  to  get  away  from  Johnson's  ranch  with  our 
valuables  !  Our  former  host,  we  were  told,  had  com- 
mitted many  depredations  and  had  served  one  term  for 
cattle  stealing.  Officers,  disguised  as  prospectors,  had 
taken  employment  with  him  and  helped  him  kill  and 
skin  some  cattle ;  the  skins,  with  their  telltale  brands, 
having  been  partially  burned  and  buried.  On  this 
evidence  he  was  afterwards  convicted. 

Our  cool  welcome  by  the  Johnsons,  their  suspicions 
of  us,  the  sinister  arsenal  of  guns  and  pistols,  all  was 
explained !  Quite  likely  some  of  these  weapons  had 
been  trained  against  us  by  the  trappers  on  the  chance 
that  we  were  either  officers  of  the  law,  or  competitors 
in  the  horse-stealing  industry.  For  that  matter  we  were 
actually  guilty  of  the  latter  count,  for  come  to  think  of  it, 
we  ourselves  had  helped  them  steal  eight  horses  and  a 
colt ! 

The  entire  trip  through  this  pretty  valley  was  full  of 
interest.  It  was  all  so  different  from  anything  seen  above. 


SUSPICIOUS  HOSTS  45 

There  were  great  bottoms  that  gave  evidence  of  having 
recently  been  overflooded,  though  now  covered  with 
cottonwood  trees,  gorgeous  in  their  autumn  foliage.  We 
had  often  wondered  where  all  the  driftwood  that  floated 
down  the  Colorado  came  from ;  but  after  seeing  those 
unnumbered  acres  of  cottonwoods  we  ceased  to  wonder. 

There  were  many  beaver  slides  on  the  banks ;  and 
in  places,  numberless  trees  had  been  felled  by  these  in- 
dustrious animals.  On  one  or  two  occasions  we  narrowly 
escaped  splitting  the  sides  of  our  boats  on  snags  of  trees 
which  the  beavers  had  buried  in  the  bottom  of  the  stream. 
We  saw  no  beaver  dams  on  the  river ;  they  were  not 
necessary,  for  deep,  quiet  pools  existed  everywhere  in 
Brown's  Park.  We  saw  two  beavers  in  this  section. 
One  of  these  rose,  porpoise-like,  to  the  top  of  the  water, 
stared  at  us  a  moment,  then  brought  his  tail  down  with  a 
resounding  smack  on  the  top  of  the  water,  and  disappeared, 
to  enter  his  home  by  the  subterranean  route,  no  doubt. 

The  river  was  gradually  losing  its  clear  colour,  for  the 
sand-bars  were  beginning  to  "work  out,"  or  break,  mak- 
ing the  water  quite  roily.  In  some  sections  of  Brown's 
Park  we  grounded  on  these  sand-bars,  making  it  neces- 
sary for  us  to  get  out  into  the  water,  pushing  and  pulling 
on  the  boats  until  deeper  water  was  reached.  Sometimes 
the  deep  water  came  when  least  expected,  the  sand-bars 
having  a  disconcerting  way  of  dropping  off  abruptly  on 
the  downstream  side.  Jimmy  stepped  off  the  edge 


46     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

of  one  of  these  hidden  ledges  while  working  with  a  boat, 
and  was  for  some  time  in  no  condition  to  appreciate  our 
ill-concealed  mirth. 

Often  we  would  be  passing  along  on  perfectly  smooth 
water,  when  suddenly  a  turmoil  would  rise  all  about  us, 
as  though  a  geyser  had  broken  out  below  the  surface. 
If  we  happened  to  be  directly  over  it,  the  boat  would  be 
rocked  back  and  forth  for  a  while ;  then  all  would  be 
peaceful  again.  This  was  most  often  caused  by  the 
ledges  of  sand,  anywhere  from  three  to  ten  feet  high, 
breaking  down  or  falling  forward  as  their  bases  were 
undermined.  In  a  single  night  a  bar  of  this  kind  will 
wrork  upstream  for  a  distance  of  several  feet ;  then  the 
sand  will  be  carried  down  with  the  current  to  lodge  again 
in  some  quiet  pool,  and  again  be  carried  on  as  before. 
This  action  gives  rise  to  long  lines  of  regular  waves  or 
swells  extending  for  some  distance  down  the  stream. 
These  are  usually  referred  to  as  sand-waves.  These 
wraves  increase  in  size  in  high  wrater ;  and  the  monotonous 
thump,  thump  of  the  boat's  bottom  upon  them  is  any- 
thing but  pleasant,  especially  if  one  is  trying  to  make 
fast  time. 

So,  with  something  new  at  every  turn,  we  pulled  lazily 
through  Brown's  Park,  shooting  at  ducks  and  geese  when 
we  came  near  them,  snapping  our  cameras  when  a  pic- 
ture presented  itself,  and  observing  the  animal  life  along 
the  stream. 


SUSPICIOUS  HOSTS  47 

We  stopped  at  one  hay-ranch  close  to  the  Utah-Colo- 
rado line  and  chatted  awhile  with  the  workers.  A  pleasant- 
faced  woman  named  Mrs.  Chew  asked  us  to  deliver  a 
message  at  a  ranch  a  mile  or  two  below.  Here  also 
was  the  post-office  of  Lodore,  Colorado,  located  a  short 
distance  above  the  canyon  of  the  same  name.  Mrs. 
Chew  informed  us  that  they  had  another  ranch  at  the 
lower  end  of  Lodore  Canyon  and  asked  us  to  look  them 
up  when  we  got  through,  remarking : 

:'You  may  have  trouble,  you  know.  Two  of  my  sons 
once  tried  it.  They  lost  their  boat,  had  to  climb  out, 
and  nearly  starved  before  they  reached  home." 

The  post-office  at  the  ranch,  found  as  described, 
without  another  home  in  sight,  wras  a  welcome  sight  to 
us  for  several  reasons.  One  reason  was  that  it  afforded 
shelter  from  a  heavy  downpour  of  rain  that  greeted  us  as 
we  neared  it,  and  a  better  reason  still  was,  that  it  gave 
us  a  chance  to  write  and  mail  some  letters  to  those  who 
would  be  most  anxious  to  hear  from  us. 

Among  the  messages  we  mailed  was  a  picture  post- 
card of  Coney  Island  at  night.  In  some  way  this  card 
had  slipped  between  the  leaves  of  a  book  that  I  had 
brought  from  the  East.  I  sent  it  out,  addressed  to  a 
friend  who  would  understand  the  joke;  writing  under- 
neath the  picture,  "We  have  an  abundance  of  such  scenery 
here."  The  young  woman  who  had  charge  of  the  office 
looked  at  the  card  in  amazement.  It  was  evidentlv  some- 


48     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON   FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

thing  new  to  her.  She  told  us  she  had  never  been  to  the 
railroad,  and  that  her  brother  took  the  mail  out  on  horse- 
back to  Steamboat,  Colorado,  140  miles  distant. 

The  rain  having  ceased,  we  returned  to  our  boats, 
pausing  to  admire  a  rainbow  that  arched  above  the 
canyon  in  the  mountains,  toward  which  we  were  headed. 
We  remarked,  jokingly,  to  Jimmy  that  this  was  a  good 
sign.  He  replied  without  smiling  that  he  "hoped  so." 
Jimmy's  songs  had  long  since  ceased,  and  we  suspected 
him  of  homesickness.  With  the  exception  of  a  short 
visit  to  some  friends  on  a  large  ranch,  Jimmy  had  never 
been  away  from  his  home  in  San  Francisco.  This  pres- 
ent experience  was  quite  a  contrast,  to  be  sure  !  We  did 
what  we  could  to  keep  him  cheered  up,  but  with  little 
success.  Jimmy  had  intimated  that  he  would  prefer 
to  leave  at  the  first  opportunity  to  reach  a  railroad,  and 
we  willingly  agreed  to  help  him  in  every  possible  way. 
Emery  and  I  also  agreed  between  ourselves  that  we  would 
not  take  any  unnecessary  risks  with  him ;  but  would 
leave  him  out  of  the  boats  at  all  rapids,  if  there  was  any 
passage  around  them. 

The  river  had  taken  a  sharp  turn  to  the  south  soon 
after  passing  the  post-office,  heading  directly  towards 
the  mountains.  Camp  was  pitched  just  above  the 
mouth  of  Lodore.  This  twenty-mile  canyon  bears  a 
very  unsavory  reputation,  having  a  descent  of  425  feet 
in  that  short  distance,  the  greater  part  of  the  fall  occurring 


SUSPICIOUS  HOSTS  49 

in  a  space  of  twelve  miles.     This  would  mean  wild  water 
somewhere  ! 

We  were  camped  on  a  spot  recently  occupied  by  some 
engineers  of  the  United  States  Conservation  Department, 
who  had  been  trying  to  determine  if  it  was  feasible  to 
dam  the  river  at  this  place.  The  plan  was  to  flood  the 
whole  of  Brown's  Park  and  divert  the  water  through 
the  mountains  by  a  tunnel  to  land  suitable  for  cultiva- 
tion, and  in  addition,  allow  the  muddy  water  to  settle  and 
so  prevent  the  vast  amount  of  silt  from  being  washed  on 
down,  eventually  to  the  mouth  of  the  Colorado.  The 
location  seemed  admirably  suited  for  this  stupendous 
project.  But  holes  drilled  beside  the  river  failed  to  find 
bottom,  as  nothing  but  quicksand  existed  even  at  a 
depth  of  nearly  three  hundred  feet ;  and  without  a  strong 
foundation,  such  a  dam  would  be  utterly  useless. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE    BATTLE    WITH    LODORE 

CAMP  routine  was  hurriedly  disposed  of  the  next 
morning,  Saturday,  September  the  23d.  Everything 
was  made  snug  beneath  the  hatches,  except  the  two  guns, 
which  were  too  long  to  go  under  the  decks,  and  had  to 
be  carried  in  the  open  cockpits.  "Camp  No.  13,  at  the 
head  of  Lodore,"  as  it  is  entered  in  my  journal,  was  soon 
hidden  by  a  bend  in  the  river.  The  open,  sun-lit  coun- 
try, with  its  pleasant  ranches  and  its  grazing  cattle,  its 
rolling,  gray,  sage-covered  hills  and  its  wild  grass  and  cot- 
tonwood-covered  bottoms,  was  left  behind,  and  we  were 
back  in  the  realm  of  the  rock-walled  canyon,  and  beetle- 
browed,  frowning  cliffs  with  pines  and  cedars  clutching 
at  the  scanty  ledges. 

We  paused  long  enough  to  make  a  picture  or  two, 
with  the  hope  that  the  photographic  record  would  give 
to  others  some  idea  of  the  geological  and  scenic  wonder 
-said  to  be  the  greatest  known  example  of  its  kind  — 
which  lay  before  us.  Here  is  an  obstructing  mountain 
raised  directly  in  the  river's  path.  Yet  with  no  deviation 

SO 


THE   BATTLE  WITH  LODORE  51 

whatever  the  stream  has  cut  through  the  very  centre  of 
the  peak  !  The  walls  are  almost  sheer,  especially  at  the 
bottom,  and  are  quite  close  together  at  the  top.  A  mile 
inside,  the  mountain  on  the  left  or  east  side  of  the  gorge 
is  2700  feet  high.  Geologists  say  that  the  river  was  here 
first,  and  that  the  mountain  was  slowly  raised  in  its  path- 
way—  so  slowly  that  the  river  could  saw  away  and  main- 
tain its  old  channel.  The  quicksand  found  below  the 
present  level  would  seem  to  indicate  that  the  walls  were 
once  even  higher  than  at  present,  and  that  a  subsidence 
had  taken  place  after  the  cutting. 

The  river  at  the  entrance  of  this  rock-walled  canyon 
was  nothing  alarming,  four  small  rapids  being  passed 
without  event.  Then  a  fifth  was  reached  that  looked 
worse.  The  Edith  was  lined  down.  This  was  hard  work, 
and  dangerous  too,  owdng  to  the  strength  of  the  current 
and  the  many  rocks ;  so  I  concluded  that  my  own  boat, 
the  Defiance,  must  run  the  rapid.  Jimmy  went  below, 
with  a  life-preserver  on  a  rope.  Emery  stood  beside  the 
rapid  with  a  camera  and  made  a  picture  as  I  shot  past 
him.  Fortunately  I  got  through  without  mishap.  I 
refused  to  upset  even  to  please  my  brother. 

We  were  beginning  to  think  that  Lodore  was  not  so 
bad  after  all.  Rapid  followed  rapid  in  quick  succession, 
and  all  were  run  without  trouble ;  then  we  came  to  a 
large  one.  It  was  Upper  Disaster  Falls ;  so  named  by 
Major  Powell,  for  it  was  here  that  one  of  his  boats  was 


52     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

wrecked  on  his  first  voyage  of  exploration.  This  boat 
failed  to  make  the  landing  above  the  rapid  and  was 
carried  over.  She  struck  a  rock  broadside,  turned  around 
and  struck  again,  breaking  the  boat  completely  in  two. 
This  boat  was  built  of  f-inch  oak  reenforced  with  bulk- 
heads. When  this  fact  is  taken  into  consideration,  some 
idea  may  be  had  of  the  great  power  of  these  rapids.  The 
three  men  who  occupied  the  boat  saved  themselves  by 
reaching  an  island  a  short  distance  below. 

This  all  happened  on  a  stage  of  water  much  higher  than 
the  present  one,  so  we  did  not  let  the  occurrence  influence 
us  one  way  or  the  other,  except  to  make  us  careful  to  land 
above  the  rapid.  We  found  a  very  narrow  channel  be- 
tween two  submerged  boulders,  the  water  plunging  and 
foaming  for  a  short  distance  below,  over  many  hidden 
rocks.  Still,  there  was  only  one  large  rock  near  the  lower 
end  that  we  greatly  feared,  and  by  careful  work  that 
might  be  avoided. 

The  Edith  went  first  and  grazed  the  boulder  slightly, 
but  no  harm  was  done  as  E.  C.  held  his  boat  well 
in  hand.  I  followed,  and  struck  rocks  at  the  same 
instant  on  both  sides  of  the  narrow  channel  with  my  oars. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  we  ran  all  these  dangerous 
rapids  facing  downstream.  The  effect  of  this  was  to 
shoot  the  ends  of  both  oars  up  past  my  face.  The  opera- 
tor said  that  I  made  a  grimace  just  as  he  took  a  picture 
of  the  scrimmage. 


THE  BATTLE  WITH  LODORE  53 

We  landed  on  the  island  below  and  talked  of  camping 
there  for  the  night,  as  it  was  getting  late ;  but  the  island 
was  so  rocky  and  inhospitable  that  we  concluded  to  try 
the  lower  part  of  the  rapid.  This  had  no  descent  like 
the  upper  end ;  but  it  was  very  shallow,  and  we  soon 
found  ourselves  on  rocks,  unable  to  proceed  any  farther. 
It  took  an  hour  of  hard  labour  to  work  our  heavy  boats 
safely  to  the  shore. 

We  had  been  hoping  for  a  rest  the  next  day  —  Sun- 
day —  but  the  island  was  such  a  disagreeable  place  to 
camp  that  it  seemed  necessary  to  cross  to  the  mainland 
at  least.  A  coil  of  strong,  pliable  wire  had  been  included 
in  our  material.  Here  was  a  chance  to  use  it  to  advan- 
tage. The  stream  on  the  left  side  of  the  island  could  be 
waded,  although  it  was  very  swift ;  and  we  managed  to 
get  the  wire  across  and  well  fastened  at  both  ends.  Ele- 
vating the  wire  above  the  water  with  cross-sticks,  our  tent 
and  camp  material  were  run  across  on  a  pulley,  and  camp 
was  pitched  a  hundred  yards  below,  on  the  left  shore  of 
the  river. 

There  were  fitful  showers  in  the  afternoon,  and  we 
rested  from  our  labour,  obtaining  a  great  deal  of  comfort 
from  our  tent,  which  was  put  up  here  for  the  third  time 
since  leaving  Green  River  City.  Always,  when  the 
weather  was  clear,  we  slept  in  the  open. 

Monday,  the  25th,  found  us  at  the  same  camp.  Hav- 
ing concluded  that  Disaster  Falls  was  an  ideal  place  for 


54 


THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 


a  moving  picture,  we  sent  the  balance  of  the  material 
across  on  the  pulley  and  wire,  making  a  picture  of  the 
operation  ;  stopping  often  because  it  continued  to  shower. 
Between  showers  we  resumed  our  work  and  picture  making. 
The  picture  was  to  have  been  concluded  with  the  oper- 
ation of  lining  the  boat  across.  E.  C.  stood  on  the  shore 
about  sixty  feet  away,  working  with  the  camera ;  Jimmy 
was  on  the  island,  paying  out  the  rope ;  while  I  waded  in 
the  water,  holding  the  bow  of  the  boat  as  I  worked  her 
between  the  rocks.  Having  reached  the  end  of  the  rope, 
I  coiled  it  up,  advising  Jimmy  to  go  up  to  a  safe  crossing 
and  join  my  brother  while  I  proceeded  with  the  boat. 
All  was  going  well,  and  I  was  nearing  the  shore,  when 
I  found  myself  suddenly  carried  off  my  feet  into  water 
beyond  my  depth,  and  drifting  for  the  lower  end  of  the 
rapid.  Meanwhile  I  was  holding  to  the  bow  of  the  boat, 
and  calling  lustily  to  my  brother  to  save  me.  At  first 
he  did  not  notice  that  anything  was  wrong,  as  he  was 
looking  intently  through  the  finder.  Then  he  suddenly 
awoke  to  the  fact  that  something  was  amiss,  and  came 
running  down  the  boulder-strewn  shore,  but  he  could 
not  help  me,  as  we  had  neglected  to  leave  a  rope  with 
him.  Things  were  beginning  to  look  pretty  serious, 
when  the  boat  stopped  against  a  rock  and  I  found  myself 
once  more  with  solid  footing  under  me.  It  was  too  good 
a  picture  to  miss ;  and  I  found  the  operator  at  the  ma- 
chine, turning  the  crank  as  I  climbed  out. 


THE  BATTLE  WITH  LODORE  55 

We  developed  some  films  and  plates  that  evening, 
securing  some  satisfactory  results  from  these  tests.  It 
continued  to  rain  all  that  night,  with  intermittent  showers 
the  next  morning.  The  rain  made  little  difference  to  us, 
for  we  were  in  the  water  much  of  the  following  day  as 
the  boats  were  taken  along  the  edge  of  another  unrunna- 
ble  rapid,  a  good  companion  rapid  for  the  one  just  passed. 

This  was  Lower  Disaster  Falls,  the  first  of  many 
similar  rapids  we  were  to  see,  but  this  was  one  of  the 
worst  of  its  kind.  The  swift-rushing  river  found  its 
channel  blocked  by  the  canyon  wall  on  the  right  side, 
the  cliff  running  at  right  angles  to  the  course  of  the 
stream.  The  river,  attacking  the  limestones,  had  cut 
a  channel  under  the  wall,  then  turned  and  ran  with  the 
wall,  emerging  about  two  hundred  feet  below.  Standing 
on  a  rock  and  holding  one  end  of  a  twenty-five  foot 
string  we  threw  a  stone  attached  to  the  other  end  across 
to  the  opposite  wall.  The  overhanging  wall  was  within 
two  feet  of  the  rushing  river ;  a  higher  stage  of  water 
would  hide  the  cut  completely  from  view.  Think  what 
would  happen  if  a  boat  were  carried  against  or  under 
that  wall  !  We  thought  of  it  many  times  as  we  care- 
fully worked  our  boats  along  the  shore. 

Between  the  delays  of  rain,  with  stops  for  picture  mak- 
ing, portaging  our  material,  and  "lining"  our  boats,  we 
spent  almost  three  days  in  getting  past  the  rapids  called 
Upper  and  Lower  Disaster  Falls,  with  their  combined  fall 


56     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

of  50  feet  in  little  more  than  half  a  mile.  On  the  even- 
ing of  September  the  26th  we  camped  almost  within 
sight  of  this  same  place,  at  the  base  of  a  3OOO-foot  sugar- 
loaf  mountain  on  the  right,  tree-covered  from  top  to 
bottom. 

Things  were  going  too  easily  for  us,  it  seemed ;  but 
we  were  in  for  a  few  reverses.  It  stormed  much  of  the 
night  and  still  drizzled  when  we  embarked  on  the  follow- 
ing morning.  The  narrow  canyon  was  gloomy  and  dark- 
ened with  shreds  of  clouds  drifting  far  below  the  rim. 
The  first  rapid  was  narrow,  and  contained  some  large 
boulders.  The  Edith  was  caught  on  one  of  these  and 
turned  on  her  side,  so  that  the  water  flowed  in,  filling  the 
cockpit.  The  boat  was  taken  off  without  difficulty, 
and  bailed  out.  We  found  that  the  bulkheads  failed 
to  keep  the  water  out  of  the  hatches.  Some  material 
from  the  Edith  was  transferred  to  the  Defiance.  A  bed, 
in  a  protecting  sack  of  rubber  and  canvas,  was  shoved 
under  the  seat  and  we  proceeded. 

Less  than  an  hour  later  I  repeated  my  brother's  per- 
formance, but  I  was  not  so  fortunate  as  he.  The  Defiance 
was  carried  against  one  rock  as  I  tried  to  pull  clear  of 
another,  and  in  an  instant  she  was  on  her  side,  held 
by  the  rush  of  water.  I  caught  the  gunwale,  and,  climb- 
ing on  to  the  rock  that  caused  the  disaster,  I  man- 
aged to  catch  the  rope  and  held  the  boat.  In  the 
meantime  Emery  was  in  a  whirlpool  below,  trying  to 


THE  BATTLE  WITH    LODORE  57 

land  on  the  right  side ;  but  was  having  a  difficult 
time  of  it.  Jimmy  stood  on  the  shore  unable  to 
help.  The  bed  was  washed  out  of  the  boat  and  went 
bobbing  over  the  waves,  then  before  I  knew  what  had 
happened,  the  rope  was  jerked  from  my  hands  and  I  was 
left  stranded  on  my  rock.  Seeing  this,  Jimmy  ran  with 
all  his  might  for  a  pool  at  the  end  of  the  rapid,  bravely 
rescuing  the  boat  and  the  bed  as  well,  just  as  the  Edith 
was  landed.  A  rope  was  soon  thrown  to  me,  after  the 
inevitable  picture  was  made.  Then  I  jumped  and  was 
pulled  to  shore. 

On  making  an  inventory  we  found  that  our  guns  were 
lost  from  the  boat.  Being  too  long  to  go  under  the 
hatches,  they  had  been  left  in  the  cockpit.  The  De- 
fiance had  an  ugly  rap  on  the  bottom,  where  she 
struck  a  rock,  the  wood  being  smashed  or  jammed,  but  not 
broken  out.  Nearly  all  material  in  the  two  boats  was  wet, 
so  we  took  everything  out  and  piled  it  on  a  piece  of  can- 
vas, spread  out  on  the  sand.  We  worked  rapidly,  for 
another  storm  had  been  threatening  all  the  morning. 

We  were  engaged  in  putting  up  our  little  tent  when 
a  violent  wind  which  swept  up  the  canyon,  followed 
by  a  downpour  of  rain  interrupted  our  work ;  and  if 
anything  missed  a  soaking  before,  it  certainly  received 
it  then.  The  sand  was  beaten  into  our  cameras  and 
everything  was  scattered  helter-skelter  over  the  shore. 
We  were  fortunate  in  only  one  respect.  The  wind  was 


58     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

away  from  the  river  instead  of  toward  it.  We  finally 
got  the  tent  up,  then  threw  everything  into  it  in  an  indis- 
criminate pile,  and  waited  for  the  storm  to  pass.  Emery 
proposed  that  we  do  a  song  and  dance  just  to  show  how 
good  we  felt ;  but  any  appearance  of  merriment  was 
rather  forced. 

Had  the  builders  of  the  boats  been  there,  we  fear  they 
would  have  had  an  uncomfortable  half-hour;  for  nearly 
all  this  loss  could  have  been  avoided  had  our  instruc- 
tions regarding  the  hatch  covers  been  followed.  And 
for  the  sake  of  their  saving  a  few  dollars  we  had  to 
suffer ! 

The  rain  soon  passed  and  we  went  to  work,  first 
starting  a  fire  and  getting  a  hurried  lunch,  for  we  had 
not  eaten  our  noon  meal,  and  it  was  then  4  P.M.  We 
put  up  our  dark-room  tent,  then  went  to  work  to  find 
what  was  saved,  and  what  was  lost.  We  were  surprised 
to  find  that  all  our  small  films  and  plates  had  escaped  a 
soaking.  Protected  in  tin  and  cardboard  boxes,  wrapped 
with  adhesive  tape,  and  covered  with  a  coating  of  paraf- 
fine  melted  and  poured  over  them,  they  had  turned  the 
water  in  nearly  every  instance.  The  motion-picture 
film  was  not  so  fortunate.  The  parafHne  had  worn  off  the 
tin  boxes  in  spots,  the  water  soaked  through  the  tape 
in  some  instances,  and  entered  to  the  film.  One 
roll,  tightly  wrapped,  became  wet  on  the  edges ;  the 
gelatine  swelled  and  stuck  to  the  other  film,  thus  seal- 


THE  BATTLE  WITH  LODORE  59 

ing  the  inner  portion  or  picture  part  of  the  film,  so  that 
roll  was  saved. 

The  motion-picture  camera  was  filled  with  water, 
mud,  and  sand ;  and  the  other  cameras  fared  likewise. 
We  cleaned  them  out  as  best  we  could,  drying  them  over 
a  small  alcohol  lamp  which  we  had  included  in  our  duffle. 
Our  job  seemed  endless.  Jimmy  had  retired  early,  for 
he  could  help  us  but  little  in  this  work.  It  rained  again 
in  torrents,  and  the  wind  howled  about  the  tent.  After 
midnight,  as  we  still  toiled,  a  land-slide,  loosened  by  the 
soaking  rains,  thundered  down  the  mountain  side  about 
a  fourth  of  a  mile  below  our  camp.  We  hoped  Jimmy 
would  not  hear  it.  We  retired  soon  after  this.  Smaller 
slides  followed  at  intervals,  descending  over  the  3000- 
foot  precipices.  Thunder  reverberated  through  the  can- 
yon, and  altogether  it  was  a  night  long  to  be  remembered. 
These  slides  made  one  feel  a  little  uncomfortable.  "It 
would  be  most  inconvenient,"  as  we  have  heard  some  one 
say,  "to  wake  in  the  morning  and  find  ourselves  wrapped 
up  in  a  few  tons  of  earth  and  rock." 

Emery  woke  me  the  next  morning  to  report  that 
the  river  had  risen  about  six  feet ;  and  that  my  boat  — 
rolled  out  on  the  sand  but  left  untied  —  was  just  on  the 
point  of  going  out  with  the  water.  It  had  proven  for- 
tunate for  us  all  Emery  was  a  light  sleeper  !  There  was 
no  travelling  this  day,  as  the  boat  had  to  be  repaired. 
Emery,  being  the  ship's  carpenter,  set  to  work  at  once, 


60     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

while  Jimmy  and  I  stretched  our  ropes  back  and  forth, 
and  hung  up  the  wet  clothes.  Then  we  built  a  number  of 
fires  underneath  and  soon  had  our  belongings  in  a  steam. 
Things  were  beginning  to  look  cheerful  again.  The  rain 
stopped,  too,  for  a  time  at  least. 

A  little  later  Jimmy  ran  into  camp  with  a  fish  which 
he  had  caught  with  his  hands.  It  was  of  the  kind  com- 
monly called  the  bony-tail  or  humpback  or  buffalo-fish, 
a  peculiar  species  found  in  many  of  the  rivers  of  the 
Southwest.  It  is  distinguished  by  a  small  flat  head, 
with  a  hump  directly  behind  it ;  the  end  of  the  body  being 
round,  very  slender,  and  equipped  with  large  tail-fins. 
This  specimen  was  about  sixteen  inches  long,  the  usual 
length  for  a  full-grown  fish  of  this  species. 

Now  for  a  fish  story  !  On  going  down  to  the  river 
we  found  a  great  many  fish  swimming  in  a  small  whirl- 
pool, evidently  trying  to  escape  from  the  thick,  slimy  mud 
which  was  carried  in  the  water.  In  a  half-hour  we 
secured  fourteen  fish,  killing  most  of  them  with  our  oars. 
There  were  suckers  and  one  catfish  in  the  lot.  You  can 
judge  for  yourself  how  thick  the  water  was,  that  such 
mudfishes  as  these  should  have  been  choked  to  helpless- 
ness. Our  captured  fish  were  given  a  bath  in  a  bucket 
of  rain-water,  and  we  had  a  fish  dinner. 

In  the  afternoon  we  made  a  test  of  the  water  from  the 
river,  and  found  that  it  contained  20  per  cent  of  an 
alkaline  silt.  When  we  had  to  use  this  water,  we  bruised 


THE  BATTLE  WITH  LODORE  6l 

the  leaf  of  a  prickly  pear  cactus,  and  placed  it  in  a  bucket 
of  water.  This  method,  repeated  two  or  three  times, 
usually  clears  the  muddiest  water.  We  also  dug  holes 
in  the  sand  at  the  side  of  the  river.  The  water,  filtering 
through  the  sand,  was  often  clear  enough  to  develop  the 
tests  we  made  with  our  films. 

Jimmy  continued  to  feel  downhearted ;  and  this 
afternoon  he  told  us  his  story.  Our  surmise  about  his 
being  homesick  was  correct,  but  it  was  a  little  more  than 
that.  He  had  an  invalid  mother,  it  seemed,  and,  aided 
by  an  older  brother,  he  had  always  looked  after  the  needs 
of  the  family.  When  the  proposition  of  making  the 
river  trip  came  up,  serious  objections  were  raised  by  the 
family ;  but  when  the  transportation  arrived  he  had  de- 
termined to  go,  in  spite  of  their  objections.  Now  he  feared 
that  his  mother  would  not  live,  or  that  we  would  be 
wrecked,  and  he  would  not  know  where  to  turn,  or  what 
to  do.  No  wonder  he  felt  blue  ! 

All  we  could  do  was  to  promise  to  help  him  leave  the 
river  at  the  very  first  opportunity.  This  would  quite 
likely  be  at  Jensen,  Utah,  still  fifty  miles  farther  down- 
stream. 

It  continued  to  rain  by  spells  that  night  and  the  next 
morning.  About  n  A.M.  we  resumed  our  work  on  the 
river.  A  short  distance  below  our  camp  we  saw  the 
land-slide  which  we  heard  the  night  before  —  tons  of  earth 
and  shattered  rock  wrapped  about  the  split  and  stripped 


62      THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

trunks  of  a  half-dozen  pines.  The  slide  was  started 
by  the  dislodged  section  of  a  sheer  wall  close  to  the  top 
of  the  27OO-foot  cliff.  We  also  saw  a  boat  of  crude  con- 
struction, pulled  above  the  high-water  mark ;  evidently 
abandoned  a  great  while  before.  Any  person  who  had  to 
climb  the  walls  at  that  place  had  a  hard  job  to  tackle,  al- 
though we  could  pick  out  breaks  where  it  looked  feasible  ; 
there  were  a  few  places  behind  us  where  it  would  be  next  to 
impossible.  We  had  only  gone  over  a  few  rapids  when  we 
found  a  long  pool,  with  driftwood  eddying  upstream,  and 
knew  that  our  run  for  the  day  was  over  —  the  Triplet 
Rapids  were  ahead  of  us.  We  found  this  rapid  to  be 
about  a  fourth  of  a  mile  long,  divided  into  three  sections 
as  its  name  indicated,  and  filled  with  great  boulders  at 
the  base  of  a  sheer  cliff  on  the  right  —  another  unrunnable 
rapid. 

Taking  the  camp  material  from  the  boats,  we  carried 
it  down  and  pitched  our  tent  first  of  all,  then,  while  Emery 
prepared  supper,  Jimmy  and  I  carried  the  remaining 
duffle  down  to  camp.  One  of  the  boats  was  lined  down 
also.  Then  after  supper  we  enjoyed  the  first  rest  we  had 
taken  for  some  time. 

Camp  Ideal  we  called  it,  and  it  well  deserved  the 
name.  At  the  bottom  of  a  tree-covered  precipice  reach- 
ing a  height  of  2700  feet,  was  a  strip  of  firm,  level  sand, 
tapering  off  with  a  slope  down  to  the  water,  making  a 
perfect  landing  and  dooryard.  ^  A  great  mass  of  driftwood, 


THE  BATTLE  WITH  LODORE  63 

piled  up  at  the  end  of  the  rapid,  furnished  us  with  all 
the  fuel  we  needed  with  small  effort  on  our  part.  Our 
tent  was  backed  against  a  large  rock,  while  other  flat 
rocks  near  at  hand  made  convenient  shelves  on  which  to 
lay  our  camp  dishes  and  kettles.  It  started  to  drizzle 
again  that  night,  but  what  cared  we  ?  With  a  roaring 
fire  in  front  of  the  tent  we  all  cleaned  up  for  a  change, 
sewed  patches  on  our  tattered  garments,  and,  sitting  on 
our  beds,  wrote  the  day's  happenings  in  our  journals. 
Then  we  crawled  into  our  comfortable  beds,  and  I  was 
soon  dreaming  of  my  boyhood  days  when  I  "played 
hookey"  from  school  and  went  fishing  in  a  creek  that 
emptied  into  the  Allegheny  River,  or  climbed  its  rocky 
banks ;  to  be  awakened  by  Jimmy  crying  out  in  his 
sleep, 

"There  she  goes  over  the  rapids." 

Jimmy  was  soon  informed  that  he  and  the  boats  were 
perfectly  safe,  and  I  was  brought  back  to  a  realization 
of  the  fact  that  I  was  not  going  to  get  a  "whaling"  for 
going  swimming  in  dog-days ;  but  instead  was  holed  up 
in  Lodore  Canyon,  in  the  extreme  northwestern  corner 
of  Colorado. 


CHAPTER  VI 
HELL'S  HALF   MILE 

WE  began  our  work  the  next  morning  where  we  left 
off  the  night  before  by  bringing  the  remaining  boat 
down  along  the  edge  of  the  "Triplets."  Then,  while 
Emery  cooked  the  breakfast,  Jimmy  and  I  "broke  camp." 
The  beds  came  first.  The  air  had  been  released  from  the 
mattresses  before  we  got  up,  —  one  way  of  saving  time. 
A  change  of  dry  clothing  was  placed  with  each  bed,  and 
they  were  rolled  as  tightly  as  the  two  of  us  could  do  it, 
after  which  they  were  strapped,  placed  in  a  rubber  sack, 
with  a  canvas  sack  over  that,  both  these  sacks  being 
laced  at  the  top.  The  tent  —  one  of  those  so-called 
balloon  silk  compositions  —  made  a  very  small  roll ; 
the  dark-room  tent,  with  its  three  plies  of  cloth,  made 
the  largest  bundle  of  the  lot.  Everything  had  been 
taken  from  the  boats,  and  made  quite  a  pile  of  dunnage, 
when  it  was  all  collected  in  a  pile  ready  for  loading. 
After  the  dishes  were  washed  they  were  packed  in  a  box, 
the  smoke-covered  pots  and  pans  being  placed  in  a  sack. 
Everything  was  sorted  and  piled  before  the  loading 

64 


Copyright  by  Aoio  aros. 
"THE   CANYON   WAS   GLOOMY,  AND   DARKENED   WITH  SHREDS  OF  CLOUDS." 


HELL'S   HALF  MILE  65 

commenced.  An  equal  division  of  nearly  everything 
was  made,  so  that  the  loss  of  one  boat  and  its  cargo 
would  only  partially  cripple  the  expedition.  The  photo- 
graphic plates  and  films,  in  protecting  canvas  sacks, 
were  first  disposed  of,  being  stored  in  the  tin-lined  hatches 
in  the  bow  of  the  boats.  Two  of  the  smaller  rolls  con- 
taining bedding,  or  clothing ;  a  sack  of  flour,  and  half  of 
the  cameras  completed  the  loads  for  the  forward  com- 
partments. Five  or  six  tin  and  wooden  boxes,  filled  with 
provisions,  went  into  the  large  compartments  under  the 
stern.  A  box  containing  tools  and  hardware  for  the 
inevitable  repairs,  and  the  weightier  provisions  —  such 
as  canned  milk  and  canned  meats  —  went  in  first. 
This  served  as  ballast  for  the  boats.  Then  the  other 
provisions  followed,  the  remaining  rolls  of  bedding  and 
tents  being  squeezed  in  on  top.  This  compartment, 
with  careful  packing,  would  hold  as  much  as  two  ordinary- 
sized  trunks,  but  squeezing  it  all  in  through  the  small 
hatchway,  or  opening  on  top,  was  not  an  easy  job.  One 
thing  we  guarded  very  carefully  from  this  time  on  was  a 
waterproofed  sack  containing  sugar.  The  muddy  water 
had  entered  the  top  of  this  sack  in  our  upset,  and  a 
liquefied  sugar,  or  brown-coloured  syrup,  was  used  in  our 
coffee  and  on  our  breakfast  foods  after  that.  It  gradu- 
ally dried  out,  and  our  emptied  cups  would  contain  a 
sediment  of  mud  in  the  bottom. 

Such  was  our  morning  routine,  although  it  was  not 


66     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

often  that  everything  was  taken  from  the  boats,  and  it 
only  happened  in  this  case  because  we  made  a  portage 
the  night  before. 

Our  work  was  all  undone  an  hour  later,  when  we  came 
to  the  sharp  descent  known  as  Hell's  Half  Mile.  A 
section  of  a  cliff  had  fallen  from  above,  and  was  shat- 
tered into  a  hundred  fragments,  large  and  small ;  gigantic 
rocks  were  scattered  on  both  shores  and  through  the 
river  bed,  not  an  orderly  array  of  rocks  such  as  that 
found  at  Ashley  Falls,  but  a  riotous  mass,  looking  as 
though  they  had  been  hurled  from  the  sky  above.  The 
stripped  trunk  of  an  eight-foot  tree,  with  roots  extend- 
ing over  the  river,  had  been  deposited  by  a  recent  flood 
on  top  of  the  principal  barrier.  All  this  was  found  about 
fifty  yards  below  the  beginning  of  the  most  violent  de- 
scent in  Lodore  Canyon.  It  would  have  been  difficult 
enough  without  this  last  complication ;  the  barrier 
seemed  next  to  insurmountable,  tired  and  handicapped 
with  heavy  boats  as  we  were. 

With  a  weary  sigh  we  dropped  our  boats  to  the  head 
of  the  rapid  and  prepared  to  make  the  portage.  Our 
previous  work  was  as  nothing  to  this.  Rounded  lime- 
stone boulders,  hard  as  flint  and  covered  with  a  thin 
slime  of  mud  from  the  recent  rise,  caused  us  to  slip 
and  fall  many  times.  Then  we  dragged  ourselves  and 
loads  up  the  sloping  wralls.  They  were  cut  with  gul- 
lies from  the  recent  rains ;  low  scraggy  cedars  caught 


HELL'S  HALF  MILE  67 

at  our  loads,  or  tore  our  clothes,  as  we  staggered  along ; 
the  muddy  earth  stuck  to  our  shoes,  or  caused  our  feet 
to  slip  from  under  us  as  we  climbed,  first  two  or  three 
hundred  feet  above  the  water,  then  close  to  the  river's 
edge.  Three-fourths  of  a  mile  of  such  work  brought  us 
to  a  level  place  below  the  rapid.  It  took  nine  loads  to 
empty  one  boat. 

Darkness  came  on  before  our  boats  were  emptied,  so 
they  were  securely  tied  in  quiet  water  at  the  head  of 
the  rapid,  and  left  for  the  morning. 

The  next  day  found  Emery  and  me  at  work  on  the 
boats,  while  Jimmy  was  stationed  on  the  shore  with  the 
motion-picture  camera.  This  wild  scene,  with  its  score 
of  shooting  currents,  was  too  good  a  view  to  miss.  With 
life-preservers  inflated  and  adjusted,  Emery  sat  in  the 
boat  at  the  oars,  pulling  against  the  current,  lessening 
the  velocity  with  which  the  boat  was  carried  down  tow- 
ard the  main  barrier,  while  I  followed  on  the  shore, 
holding  a  rope,  and  dropped  him  down,  a  little  at  a  time, 
until  the  water  became  too  rough  and  the  rocks  too  nu- 
merous. All  directions  were  given  with  signals  ;  the  human 
voice  was  of  little  avail  in  the  turmoil.  We  kept  the 
boats  in  the  water  as  long  as  it  was  safe  to  do  so,  for  it 
greatly  lessened  the  hard  work  of  a  portage.  With  one 
end  of  the  boat  floating  on  the  water,  an  ordinary  lift 
would  take  the  other  end  over  a  rock  with  insufficient 
water  above  it  to  float  the  boat.  Then  the  boat  was 


68  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

balanced  on  the  rock,  the  opposite  end  was  lifted,  she 
was  shoved  forward  and  dropped  in  the  water  again, 
and  another  threatening  rock  was  passed.  Foot  by  foot 
we  fought  our  way,  now  on  the  shore,  now  waist  deep  in 
the  water  below  some  protecting  boulder,  threatened 
every  moment  by  the  whirling  water  that  struggled  to 
drag  us  into  the  torrent.  The  sand  and  water  collecting 
in  our  clothes  weighted  us  down ;  the  chill  of  standing  in 
the  cold  water  numbed  our  limbs.  Finally  the  barrier 
was  reached  and  the  boats  were  run  out  close  to  the  end, 
and  tied  in  a  quiet  pool,  while  we  devised  some  method 
of  getting  them  past  or  over  this  obstruction. 

Directly  underneath  and  beyond  the  roots  of  the  tree 
were  large  rounded  boulders,  covered  with  slippery  mud. 
Past  this  barrier  the  full  force  of  the  water  raced,  to  hurl 
itself  and  divide  its  current  against  another  rock.  It 
was  useless  to  try  to  take  a  boat  around  the  end  of  the 
rock.  The  boat's  sides,  three-eighths  of  an  inch  thick, 
would  be  crushed  like  a  cardboard  box.  If  lifted  into 
the  V-shaped  groove,  the  weight  of  the  boats  would  wedge 
them  and  crush  their  sides.  Fortunately  an  upright 
log  was  found  tightly  wedged  between  these  boulders. 
A  strong  limb,  with  one  end  resting  on  a  rock  opposite, 
was  nailed  to  this  log ;  a  triangle  of  stout  sticks,  with 
the  point  down,  was  placed  opposite  this  first  limb,  on 
the  same  level,  and  was  fastened  to  the  upright  log  with 
still  another  piece ;  and  another  difficulty  was  overcome. 


HELL'S  HALF  MILE  69 

With  a  short  rope  fastened  to  the  iron  bar  or  hand- 
hold on  the  stern,  this  end  was  lifted  on  to  the  cross-piece, 
the  bow  sticking  into  the  water  at  a  sharp  angle.  The 
short  rope  was  tied  to  the  stump,  so  we  would  not  lose 
what  we  had  gained.  The  longer  rope  from  the  bow  was 
thrown  over  the  roots  of  the  tree  above,  then  we  both 
pulled  on  the  rope,  until  finally  the  bow  was  on  a  level 
with  the  stern.  She  was  pulled  forward,  the  ropes  were 
loosened  and  the  boat  rested  on  the  cross-pieces.  The 
motion-picture  camera  was  transferred  so  as  to  command 
a  view  of  the  lower  side  of  the  barrier,  then  the  boat  was 
carefully  tilted,  and  slid  forward,  a  little  at  a  time,  until 
she  finally  gained  headway,  nearly  jerking  the  rope  from 
our  hands,  and  shot  into  the  pool  below. 

We  enjoyed  the  wildest  ride  we  had  experienced  up 
to  this  time  in  running  the  lower  end  of  this  rapid.  The 
balance  of  the  day  was  spent  in  the  same  camp  below 
the  rapid.  Our  tent  was  put  up  in  a  group  of  box  elder 
trees,  —  the  first  trees  of  this  species  we  had  seen.  Red 
cedar  trees  dotted  the  rocky  slopes,  while  the  larger 
pines  became  scarce  at  the  river's  edge,  and  gathered 
near  the  top  of  the  canyon's  walls.  The  dark  red  rocks 
near  the  bottom  were  covered  with  a  light  blue-tinted 
stratum  of  limestone,  similar  to  the  fallen  rocks  found 
in  the  rapid  above.  In  one  land-slide,  evidently  struck 
with  some  rolling  rock,  lay  the  body  of  a  small  deer. 
We  saw  many  mountain  sheep  tracks,  but  failed  to  see 


70     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

the  sheep.  Many  dead  fish,  their  gills  filled  with  the 
slimy  mud  from  the  recent  rise,  floated  past  us,  or  lay 
half  buried  in  the  mud.  These  things  were  noticed  as 
we  went  about  our  duties,  for  we  were  too  weary  to  do 
any  exploring. 

The  next  morning,  Monday,  October  the  2d,  saw 
us  making  arrangements  for  the  final  run  that  would 
take  us  out  of  Lodore  Canyon.  No  doubt  it  was  a  beau- 
tiful and  a  wonderful  place,  but  none  of  us  seemed  sorry 
to  leave  it  behind.  For  ten  days  we  had  not  had  a  single 
day  entirely  free  from  rain,  and  instead  of  having  a  chance 
to  run  rapids,  it  seemed  as  if  we  had  spent  an  entire  week 
in  carrying  our  loads,  or  in  lining  our  boats  through  the 
canyon.  The  canyon  walls  lost  much  of  their  pre- 
cipitous character  as  we  neared  the  end  of  the  canyon. 

A  short  run  took  us  over  the  few  rapids  that  remained, 
and  at  a  turn  ahead  we  saw  a  3 co-foot  ridge,  brilliantly 
tinted  in  many  colours,  —  light  and  golden  yellows,  orange 
and  red,  purple  and  lavender,  —  and  composed  of  number- 
less wafer-like  layers  of  rock,  uptilted,  so  that  the  broken 
ends  looked  like  the  spines  of  a  gigantic  fish's  back. 
A  sharp  turn  to  the  left  soon  brought  us  to  the  end  of  this 
ridge,  close  to  the  bottom  of  a  smooth,  sheer  wall.  Across 
a  wide,  level  point  of  sand  we  could  see  a  large  stream, 
the  Yampa  River,  flowing  from  the  East  to  join  its  waters 
with  those  of  the  Green.  This  was  the  end  of  Lodore 
Canyon. 


CHAPTER  VII 

JIMMY    GOES    OVER   THE    MOUNTAIN 

THE  Yampa,  or  Bear  River,  was  a  welcome  sight  to 
us  in  spite  of  its  disagreeable  whitish  yellow,  clay  colour ; 
quite  different  from  the  red  water  of  the  Green  River. 
The  new  stream  meant  more  water  in  the  channel,  some- 
thing we  needed  badly,  as  our  past  tribulations  showed. 
The  recent  rise  on  the  Green  had  subsided  a  little,  but 
we  now  had  a  much  higher  stage  than  when  we  entered 
Lodore.  Quite  likely  the  new  conditions  gave  us  six 
feet  of  water  above  the  low  water  on  which  we  had  been 
travelling.  Would  it  increase  or  diminish  our  dangers  ? 
We  were  willing,  Emery  and  I,  even  anxious,  to  risk  our 
chances  on  the  higher  water. 

Directly  opposite  the  Yampa,  the  right  shore  of  the 
Green  went  up  sheer  about  700  feet  high,  indeed  it  seemed 
to  overhang  a  trifle.  This  had  been  named  Echo  Cliffs 
by  Powell's  party.  The  cliffs  gave  a  remarkable  echo, 
repeating  seven  words  plainly  when  shouted  from  the 
edge  of  the  Yampa  a  hundred  yards  away,  and  would 
doubtless  repeat  more  if  shouted  from  the  farther  shore 

71 


72      THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

of  the  Yampa.  Echo  Cliffs,  we  found,  were  in  the  form 
of  a  peninsula  and  terminated  just  below  this  point  where 
we  stood,  the  river  doubling  back  on  the  other  side  of  the 
cliff.  On  the  left  side  of  the  river,  the  walls  fell  back, 
leaving  a  flat,  level  space  of  about  twenty-five  acres. 
Here  was  a  little  ranch  of  which  Mrs.  Chew  had  told  us. 
The  Chew  ranch  lay  back  from  the  river  on  top  of  the 
cliffs.  We  found  no  one  at  home  here  at  this  first  ranch, 
but  there  was  evidence  of  recent  habitation.  There  were 
a  few  peach  trees,  and  a  small  garden,  while  beyond  this 
were  two  buildings,  —  little  shacks  in  a  dilapidated 
condition.  The  doors  were  off  their  hinges  and  leaned 
against  the  building,  a  few  logs  being  placed  against  the 
doors.  Past  the  dooryard,  coming  out  of  a  small  canyon 
above  the  ranch,  ran  a  little  brook ;  up  this  canyon  was 
a  trail,  the  outlet  to  the  ranch  above.  We  camped  near 
the  mouth  of  the  stream. 

It  had  been  agreed  upon  the  night  before,  that  we 
should  endeavour  to  make  arrangements  to  have  Jimmy 
taken  out  on  horseback  over  the  mountains.  Before 
looking  for  the  ranch,  however,  we  asked  him  if  he  did  not 
wish  to  reconsider  his  decision  to  leave  here.  We  pointed 
out  that  Jensen,  Utah,  was  only  fifty  miles  away,  half  that 
distance  being  in  quiet  water,  and  that  the  worst  canyon 
was  behind  us.  But  he  said  he  had  enough  of  the  river, 
and  preferred  to  see  what  could  be  done.  While  I  busied 
myself  about  camp,  he  and  Emery  left  for  the  ranch. 


JIMMY   GOES  OVER  THE  MOUNTAIN  73 

About  seven  o'clock  that  evening  they  returned  in 
great  spirits.  They  had  found  the  ranch  without  any 
trouble,  nearly  three  miles  from  our  camp.  Mrs.  Chew 
was  there  and  gave  them  a  hearty  welcome.  She  had 
often  wondered  what  had  become  of  us.  She  invited 
the  boys  to  remain  for  supper,  which  they  did.  They 
talked  over  the  matter  of  transportation  for  Jimmy. 
As  luck  would  have  it,  Mrs.  Chew  was  going  to  drive 
over  to  Jensen,  and  Vernal,  Utah,  in  two  days'  time,  and 
agreed  to  take  Jimmy  along. 

Early  the  next  morning  two  boys,  one  about  fourteen 
years  old  the  other  a  little  older,  rode  down  from  the 
ranch.  Some  of  their  horses  were  pastured  across  the 
river  and  they  had  come  after  these.  After  a  short 
visit  they  got  into  the  Edith  with  Emery  and  prepared  to 
cross  over  to  the  pasture,  which  was  a  mile  or  more  down- 
stream. They  were  soon  out  of  our  sight.  Jimmy  and  I 
remained  at  the  camp,  taking  pictures,  packing  his 
belongings,  and  finding  many  odd  jobs  to  be  done.  In 
about  three  hours  the  boys  returned  with  their  horses. 
The  horses  were  quite  gentle,  and  they  had  no  difficulty 
in  swimming  them  across.  A  young  colt,  too  feeble  to 
swim,  placed  its  fore  feet  on  its  mother's  flanks  and  was 
ferried  across  in  that  way.  Then  they  were  driven  over 
a  narrow  trail  skirting  the  cliff,  300  feet  above  the  river. 
No  one,  looking  from  the  river,  would  have  imagined  that 
any  trail,  over  which  horses  could  be  driven,  existed. 


74     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

The  boys  informed  us  that  we  were  expected  at  the 
ranch  for  dinner,  and  would  listen  to  no  refusal,  so  up 
we  went,  although  we  would  have  to  make  a  second  trip 
that  day.  The  view  of  the  ranch  was  another  of  those 
wonderful  scenic  changes  which  we  were  to  meet  with 
everywhere  in  this  region.  The  flat  on  which  we  stood 
was  simply  a  pocket,  shut  in  by  the  round-domed  moun- 
tains, with  a  pass,  or  an  opening,  to  the  east  side.  A 
small  stream  ran  down  a  mountain  side,  spreading  over 
the  rocks,  and  glistening  in  the  sunlight.  This  same 
stream  passed  the  ranch,  and  ran  on  down  through  the 
narrow  canyon  up  which  we  had  come.  The  ranch  itself 
was  refreshing.  The  buildings  were  new,  some  were 
under  construction ;  but  there  was  considerable  ground 
under  cultivation.  Cattle  were  scattered  up  the  valley, 
or  dotted  the  rocky  slopes  below  the  mountains.  A  wild 
spot  this,  on  the  borderland  of  the  three  states.  None  but 
people  of  fortitude,  or  even  of  daring,  would  think  of 
taking  up  a  homestead  in  this  secluded  spot.  The 
same  rumours  of  the  escaped  prisoners  had  drifted  in  here. 
It  was  Mr.  Chew  who  gave  us  the  information  we  have 
previously  quoted  concerning  the  murdered  man.  He  had 
found  the  body  in  the  boat,  in  front  of  the  post-office. 
He  further  stated  that  others  in  the  mountains  would  not 
hesitate  at  anything  to  drive  out  those  who  were  trying 
to  improve  a  homestead  as  he  was  doing,  and  that  it  was 
a  common  event  to  find  the  carcasses  of  his  own  horses 


JIMMY  GOES  OVER  THE  MOUNTAIN  75 

or  cattle  which  had  been  ruthlessly  slaughtered.  This 
was  the  reason  for  putting  the  horses  across  the  river. 
There  they  were  safe,  for  none  could  approach  them  save 
by  going  past  the  ranch,  or  coming  through  Lodore 
Canyon. 

Mr.  Chew  also  told  us  of  the  Snyders,  who  had  lost 
their  boat  in  upper  Lodore  Canyon,  and  of  how  he  had 
given  them  a  horse  and  provisions  to  aid  them  in  reaching 
the  settlements.  This  did  not  prevent  the  elder  Snyder 
from  coming  back  to  trap  the  next  year,  much  to  Mr. 
Chew's  disgust.  He  thought  one  experience  should  be 
enough  for  any  man. 

While  we  were  talking,  a  very  old,  bearded  man  rode  in 
on  a  horse.  He  was  Pat  Lynch,  the  owner  of  the  little 
ranch  by  the  river.  He  was  a  real  old-timer,  having 
been  in  Brown's  Park  when  Major  Powell  was  surveying 
that  section  of  the  country.  He  told  us  that  he  had 
been  hired  to  get  some  meat  for  the  party,  and  had  killed 
five  mountain  sheep.  He  was  so  old  that  he  scarcely 
knew  what  he  was  talking  about,  rambling  from  one 
subject  to  another ;  and  would  have  us  listening  with  im- 
patience to  hear  the  end  of  some  wonderful  tale  of  the 
early  days,  when  he  would  suddenly  switch  off  on  to  an 
entirely  different  subject,  leaving  the  first  unfinished. 

In  spite  of  his  years  he  was  quite  active,  having  broken 
the  horse  on  which  he  rode,  bareback,  without  assistance. 
We  were  told  that  he  placed  a  spring  or  trap  gun  in  his 


76     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

houses  at  the  river,  ready  to  greet  any  prying  marauder. 
The  last  we  saw  of  him  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  post- 
office,  miles  away,  to  draw  his  pension  for  service  in  the 
Civil  War. 

Returning  to  the  transportation  of  Jimmy,  it  was 
settled  that  the  Chews  were  to  leave  early  the  next  morning. 
They  also  agreed  to  take  out  our  exposed  films  and  plates 
for  us  —  something  we  had  not  counted  on,  but  too  good 
a  chance  to  lose.  We  all  three  returned  to  the  boats  and 
packed  the  stuff  that  was  to  go  out ;  then  went  back  to 
the  ranch  with  Jimmy.  It  was  late  —  after  midnight  - 
when  we  reached  there,  and  we  did  not  disturb  any  one. 
Jimmy's  blankets  were  unrolled  in  the  wagon,  so  there 
would  be  no  question  about  his  going  out.  He  was  to 
go  to  Jensen,  or  Vernal,  and  there  await  us,  keeping  our 
films  until  we  arrived.  We  knew  they  were  in  good  hands. 
It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  we  found  our  way  back 
to  our  camp.  The  trail  was  difficult  and  it  was  pitch 
dark.  My  boat  had  been  taken  down  to  where  Emery 
left  the  Edith  when  the  horses  were  driven  across,  and  this 
extra  distance  was  added  to  our  walk. 

We  were  laggard  the  next  morning,  and  in  no  hurry 
to  resume  our  work.  We  rearranged  our  loads  in  the 
boats ;  with  one  less  man  and  considerable  less  baggage 
as  well,  they  were  lighter  by  far.  Our  chances  looked 
much  more  favourable  for  an  easier  passage.  Not  only 
were  these  things  in  our  favour,  but  in  addition  we  felt 


JIMMY  GOES  OVER  THE  MOUNTAIN  77 

that  we  had  served  our  apprenticeship  at  navigation  in 
rapid  water,  and  we  were  just  as  capable  of  meeting  the 
rapids  to  follow  as  if  we  had  years  of  experience  to  our 
record.  On  summing  up  we  found  that  the  river  had 
dropped  1000  feet  since  leaving  Green  River,  Wyoming, 
and  that  5000  feet  remained,  to  put  us  on  a  level  with 
the  ocean.  Our  difficulties  would  depend,  of  course, 
on  how  this  fall  was  distributed.  Most  of  the  fall  behind 
was  found  in  Lodore  and  Red  canyons.  It  was  doubtful 
indeed  if  any  section  would  have  a  more  rapid  fall  than 
Lodore  Canyon. 

There  is  a  certain  verse  of  wisdom  which  says  that 
"Pride  goeth  before  a  fall,"  but  perhaps  it  was  just  as 
well  for  us  if  we  were  a  little  bit  elated  by  our  past  achieve- 
ments as  long  as  we  had  to  go  through  with  the  balance 
of  our  self-imposed  task.  Confidence,  in  a  proper  degree, 
is  a  great  help  when  real  difficulties  have  to  be  surmounted. 
We  were  full  of  confidence  that  day  when  we  pulled  away 
about  noon  into  Whirlpool  Canyon,  Whirlpool  Canyon 
being  next  on  the  list.  The  camp  we  were  about  to  leave 
was  directly  opposite  Lodore  Canyon,  where  it  ran  against 
the  upended  cliff.  The  gorgeous  colours  were  the  same 
as  those  on  the  opposite  side,  and,  to  a  certain  degree,  were 
also  found  in  Whirlpool  Canyon. 

Our  two  and  a  half  hours'  dash  through  the  fourteen 
miles  of  rapid  water  in  Whirlpool  Canyon  put  us  in  a 
joyful  frame  of  mind.  Rapid  after  rapid  was  left  behind 


78     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

us  without  a  pause  in  our  rowing,  with  only  a  hasty 
survey  standing  on  the  deck  of  the  boats  before  going 
over.  Others  that  were  free  from  rocks  were  rowed  into 
bow  first,  the  big  waves  breaking  over  our  boats  and  our- 
selves. We  bailed  while  drifting  in  the  quiet  stretches, 
then  got  ready  for  the  next  rapids.  Two  large  rapids 
only  were  looked  over  from  the  shore  and  these  were  run 
in  the  same  manner.  We  could  hardly  believe  it  was  true 
when  we  emerged  from  the  mountain  so  quickly  into  a 
little  flat  park  or  valley  sheltered  in  the  hills.  This  was 
Island  or  Rainbow  Park,  the  latter  name  being  suggested 
by  the  brilliant  colouring  of  the  rocks,  in  the  mountains 
to  our  left.  Perhaps  the  form  of  the  rocks  themselves 
helped  a  little,  for  here  was  one  end  of  the  rainbow  of  rock 
which  began  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains.  Jagged- 
edged  canyons  looking  almost  as  if  their  sides  had  been 
rent  asunder  came  out  of  these  mountains.  There  was 
very  little  dark  red  here  except  away  on  top,  2300  feet 
above,  where  a  covering  of  pines  made  a  soft  background 
for  light-cream  and  gorgeous  yellow-coloured  pinnacles,  or 
rocky  walls  of  pink  and  purple  and  delicate  shades  of 
various  hues.  Large  cottonwoods  appeared  again  along 
the  river  banks,  in  brilliant  autumn  colours,  adding  to 
the  beauties  of  the  scene.  Back  from  the  river,  to  the 
west,  stretched  the  level  park,  well  covered  with  bunch- 
grass  on  which  some  cattle  grazed,  an  occasional  small 
prickly  pear  cactus,  and  the  ever  present,  pungent  sage. 


JIMMY  GOES  OVER  THE  MOUNTAIN  79 

Verdure-covered  islands  dotted  the  course  of  the  stream, 
which  was  quiet  and  sluggish,  doubling  back  and  forth 
like  a  serpent  over  many  a  useless  mile.  Nine  miles  of 
rowing  brought  us  back  to  a  point  about  three  miles 
from  the  mouth  of  Whirlpool  Canyon ;  where  the  river 
again  enters  the  mountain,  deliberately  choosing  this 
course  to  one,  unobstructed  for  several  miles,  to  the 
right. 

The  next  gorge  was  Split  Mountain  Canyon,  so 
named  because  the  stream  divided  the  ridge  length- 
wise, from  one  end  to  the  other.  It  was  short,  only  nine 
miles  long,  with  a  depth  of  2700  feet  in  the  centre  of  the 
canyon.  Three  miles  of  the  nine  were  put  behind  us 
before  we  camped  that  evening.  These  were  run  in 
the  same  manner  as  the  rapids  of  Whirlpool,  scarcely 
pausing  to  look  them  over,  but  these  rapids  were  bigger, 
much  bigger.  One  we  thought  was  just  formed  or  at 
least  increased  in  size  by  a  great  slide  of  rock  that  had 
fallen  since  the  recent  rains.  We  just  escaped  trouble  in 
this  rapid,  both  boats  going  over  a  large  rock  with  a 
great  cresting  wave  below,  and  followed  by  a  very  rough 
rapid.  Emery  was  standing  on  top  of  a  fifteen-foot 
rock  below  the  rapid  when  I  went  over,  and  for  a  few 
moments  could  see  nothing  of  my  boat,  hardly  believing 
it  possible  that  I  had  come  through  without  a  scratch. 
These  rapids  with  the  high  water  looked  more  like  rapids 
we  had  seen  in  the  Grand  Canyon,  and  were  very  unlike 


80     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

the  shallow  water  of  a  week  previous.  We  had  only 
travelled  a  half  day,  but  felt  as  if  it  had  been  a  very  com- 
plete day  when  we  camped  at  the  foot  of  a  rock  slide  on 
the  right,  just  above  another  big  rapid. 

On  Thursday,  October  5,  Camp  No.  20  was  left 
behind.  The  rapid  below  the  camp  was  big,  big  enough 
for  a  moving  picture,  so  we  took  each  other  in  turns  as 
we  ran  the  rapid.  More  rapids  followed,  but  these  were 
not  so  large.  A  few  sharp-pointed  spires  of  tinted  rock 
lifted  above  us  a  thousand  feet  or  more.  Framed  in 
with  the  branches  of  the  near-by  cottonwood  trees,  they 
made  a  charming  picture.  Less  than  three  hours  brought 
us  to  the  end  of  Split  Mountain  Canyon,  and  the  last 
bad  water  we  were  to  have  for  some  time.  Just  before 
leaving  the  canyon,  we  came  to  some  curious  grottos,  or 
alcoves,  under  the  rock  walls  on  the  left  shore.  The  river 
has  cut  into  these  until  they  overhang,  some  of  them 
twenty-five  feet  or  over.  In  one  of  these  was  a  beaver 
lying  on  a  pile  of  floating  sticks.  Although  we  passed 
quite  close,  the  beaver  never  moved,  and  we  did  not 
molest  it. 

Another  shower  greeted  us  as  we  emerged  into  the 
Uinta  Valley  as  it  is  called  by  the  Ute  Indians.  This 
valley  is  eighty-seven  miles  long.  It  did  not  have  the 
fertileness  of  Brown's  Park,  being  raised  in  bare  rolling 
hills,  runnelled  and  gullied  by  the  elements.  The  water 
was  quiet  here,  and  hard  rowing  was  necessary  to  make 


JIMMY  GOES  OVER  THE  MOUNTAIN  8l 

any  progress.  We  had  gone  about  seven  miles  when  we 
spied  a  large  placer  dredge  close  to  the  river.  To  the 
uninitiated  this  dredge  would  look  much  like  a  dredging 
steamboat  out  of  water,  but  digging  its  own  channel, 
which  is  what  it  really  does. 

Great  beds  of  gravel  lay  on  either  side  of  the  river  and 
placer  gold  in  large  or  small  quantities,  but  usually  the 
latter  is  likely  to  exist  in  these  beds.  When  a  dredge 
like  the  one  found  here  is  to  be  installed,  an  opening  is 
made  in  the  river's  bank  leading  to  an  excavation  which 
has  been  made,  then  a  large  flatboat  is  floated  in  this. 
The  dredging  machinery  is  on  this  float,  as  well  as  most  of 
the  machinery  through  which  the  gravel  is  passed  ac- 
companied by  a  stream  of  water ;  then  with  quicksilver 
and  rockers  of  various  designs,  the  gold  is  separated  from 
the  gravel  and  sand. 

Numerous  small  buildings  were  standing  near  the 
dredge,  but  the  buildings  were  empty,  and  the  dredge 
lay  idle.  We  saw  many  fresh  tracks  of  men  and  horses 
and  were  welcomed  by  a  sleek,  well-fed  cat,  but  found  the 
place  was  deserted.  All  buildings  were  open  and  in  one 
was  a  telephone.  We  were  anxious  to  hear  just  where 
we  were,  so  we  used  the  telephone  and  explained  what 
we  wanted  to  know.  The  "Central"  informed  us  that 
we  were  about  nine  miles  from  Jensen,  so  we  returned 
to  the  boats  and  pulled  with  a  will  through  a  land  that 
was  no  longer  barren,  but  with  cozy  ranch  houses,  sur- 


82     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

rounded  by  rows  of  stately  poplars,  bending  with  the 
wind,  for  it  was  storming  in  earnest  now.  About  six 
o'clock  that  evening  we  caught  sight  of  the  top  of  the 
Jensen  bridge ;  then,  as  we  neared  the  village,  the  sun 
broke  through  the  pall  of  cloud  and  mist,  and  a  rainbow 
appeared  in  the  sky  above,  and  was  mirrored  in  the 
swollen  stream,  rainbow  and  replica  combined  nearly 
completing  the  wondrous  arc.  There  was  a  small  inn 
beside  the  bridge,  and  arrangements  were  made  for 
staying  there  that  night.  We  were  told  that  Jim  and 
Mrs.  Chew  had  passed  through  Jensen  about  four  hours 
before  we  arrived.  They  had  left  word  that  they  would 
go  on  through  to  Vernal,  fifteen  miles  distant  from  the 
river. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

AN    INLAND    EXCURSION 

JENSEN  was  a  small  village  with  two  stores  and  a 
post-office.  A  few  scattered  houses  completed  the  village 
proper,  but  prosperous-looking  ranches  spread  out  on  the 
lowland  for  two  or  three  miles  in  all  directions  on  the 
west  side  of  the  river.  Avenues  of  poplar  trees,  fruit 
trees,  and  fields  of  alfalfa  gave  these  ranches  a  different 
appearance  from  any  others  we  had  passed. 

We  found  some  mail  awaiting  us  at  the  post-office, 
and  were  soon  busily  engaged  in  reading  the  news  from 
home.  We  conversed  awhile  with  the  few  people  at 
the  hotel,  then  retired,  but  first  made  arrangements  for 
saddle  horses  for  the  ride  to  Vernal. 

Next  morning  we  found  two  spirited  animals,  saddled 
and  waiting  for  us.  We  had  some  misgivings  concerning 
these  horses,  but  were  assured  that  they  were  "all  right." 
A  group  of  grinning  cowboys  and  ranch  hands  craning 
their  necks  from  a  barn,  a  hundred  yards  distant,  rather 
inclined  us  to  think  that  perhaps  our  informant  might 
be  mistaken.  Nothing  is  more  amusing  to  these  men  of 

83 


84     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

the  range  than  to  see  a  man  thrown  from  his  horse,  and 
a  horse  that  is  "all  right"  for  one  of  them  might  be 
anything  else  to  persons  such  as  we  who  never  rode 
anything  except  gentle  horses,  and  rode  those  indifferently. 
We  mounted  quickly  though,  trying  to  appear  uncon- 
cerned. The  horses,  much  to  our  relief,  behaved  quite 
well,  Emery's  mount  rearing  back  on  his  hind  legs, 
but  not  bucking.  After  that,  all  went  smoothly. 

Leaving  the  irrigated  ranches  on  the  bottom  lands, 
we  ascended  a  low,  rolling  mesa,  composed  of  gravel  and 
clay,  unwatered  and  unfertile,  from  which  we  caught 
occasional  glimpses  of  the  mountains  and  the  gorge  from 
which  we  had  emerged,  their  brilliant  colours  softened 
and  beautified  by  that  swimming  blue  haze  which  belongs 
to  this  plateau  region.  Then  we  rode  down  into  the 
beautiful  Ashley  Valley,  watered  by  Ashley  Creek,  a 
good-sized  stream  even  after  it  was  used  to  irrigate  all 
the  country  for  miles  above.  The  valley  was  several 
miles  wide.  The  stream  emptied  into  the  river  about  a 
mile  below  Jensen.  All  parts  of  the  valley  were  under 
cultivation.  It  is  famous  for  its  splendid  deciduous 
fruits,  apples,  pears,  peaches ;  splendid  both  in  ap- 
pearance and  flavour.  It  excelled  not  only  in  fruits, 
however,  but  in  all  products  of  the  field  as  well.  "Vernal 
honey,"  which  is  marketed  far  and  near,  has  a  reputation 
for  fine  flavour  wherever  it  is  known.  A  thick  growth  of 
the  bee-blossom  or  bee-weed  crowded  the  road  sides  and 


Copyright  by  Kolo  tiros. 

EACH    BED    WAS    PLACED    IN    A    RUBBER    AND    A    CANVAS    SACK.    PHOTO    TAKEN 

IN   MARBLE   CANYON. 


AN  INLAND  EXCURSION  85 

hugged  the  fences.  The  fragrance  of  the  flower  can 
easily  be  noticed  in  the  sweetness  of  the  honey.  The 
pity  of  it  was  that  bushels  of  fruit  lay  rotting  on  the 
ground,  for  there  were  no  transportation  facilities,  the 
nearest  railroad  being  90  miles  distant.  There  were 
stock  ranches  too,  with  blooded  stock  in  the  fence-en- 
closed fields.  Some  of  the  splendid  horses  paced  along 
beside  us  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence.  We  heard  the 
rippling  song  of  some  meadow-larks  this  day,  the  only  birds 
of  this  species  we  remember  having  seen  on  the  Western 
plateaus. 

All  these  ranches  were  laid  out  in  true  Mormon  style, 
that  is,  squared  off  in  sections,  fenced,  and  planted  with 
shade-trees  before  being  worked.  The  roads  are  usually 
wide  and  the  streets  exceptionally  so.  Except  in  the 
business  streets,  a  large  garden  usually  surrounds  the 
home  building,  each  family  endeavouring  to  raise  all  their 
own  vegetables,  fruits,  and  poultry.  They  usually  suc- 
ceed. 

The  shade  trees  about  Vernal  were  Lombardy  poplars. 
They  attained  a  height  that  would  give  ample  shade  under 
most  conditions,  and  too  much  when  we  were  there,  for 
the  roads  were  very  muddy,  although  they  had  dried  in 
all  other  sections.  Nearing  Vernal,  we  passed  Nathan 
Galloway's  home,  a  cozy  place  set  back  some  distance 
from  the  road.  We  had  hoped  to  meet  Galloway  and 
have  an  opportunity  of  talking  over  his  experiences  with 


86     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

him,  but  found  he  was  absent  on  a  hunting  trip,  in  fact 
was  up  in  the  mountains  we  had  come  through. 

On  nearing  the  town  we  were  greeted  by  a  busy 
scene.  Numerous  wagons  and  horses  stood  in  squares 
reserved  for  that  purpose,  or  were  tied  to  hitching  posts 
in  front  of  the  many  stores.  Ranchers  and  their  families 
were  everywhere  in  evidence ;  there  were  numerous 
prospectors  in  their  high-topped  boots  just  returning 
from  the  mountains,  and  oil  men  in  similar  garb,  muddy 
from  head  to  foot.  Later  we  learned  that  oil  had  recently 
been  discovered  about  forty  miles  distant,  this  fact 
accounting  for  much  of  the  activity. 

The  town  itself  was  a  surprise ;  we  found  it  to  be  very 
much  up-to-date  considering  its  isolated  position.  Two 
of  the  streets  were  paved  and  oiled  and  were  supplied  with 
drinking  fountains.  There  were  two  prosperous  looking 
banks,  two  well-stocked  and  up-to-date  drug  stores, 
several  mercantile  stores,  and  many  others,  all  busy. 
Many  of  the  buildings  were  of  brick ;  all  were  substantial. 

Near  a  hotel  we  observed  a  group  of  men  surrounding 
some  one  who  was  evidently  keeping  them  interested. 
On  approaching  them  we  found  it  was  Jimmy,  giving  a 
graphic  description  of  some  of  our  difficulties.  His 
story  was  not  finished,  for  he  saw  us  and  ran  to  greet  us, 
as  pleased  to  see  us  as  we  were  to  see  him.  He  had 
little  idea  we  would  be  along  for  two  or  three  days  and 
naturally  was  much  surprised. 


AN  INLAND  EXCURSION  87 

On  entering  the  hotel  we  were  greeted  by  an  old  Grand 
Canyon  friend,  a  civil  engineer  named  Duff,  who  with  a 
crew  of  men  had  been  mapping  the  mountains  near  Whirl- 
pool Canyon.  You  can  imagine  that  it  was  a  gratifying 
surprise  to  all  concerned  to  find  we  were  not  altogether 
among  strangers,  though  they  were  as  hospitable  as 
strangers  could  be.  The  hotel  was  a  lively  place  that  night. 
There  was  some  musical  talent  among  Duff's  men,  and 
Duff  himself  was  an  artist  on  the  piano.  Many  of  the 
young  people  of  the  town  had  dropped  in  that  evening, 
as  some  one  had  passed  the  word  that  there  might  be  an 
impromptu  entertainment  at  the  hotel.  There  was. 
Duff  played  and  the  boys  sang.  Jimmy  was  himself 
again  and  added  his  rich  baritone.  The  town  itself  was 
not  without  musical  talent,  and  altogether  it  was  a  restful 
change  for  us. 

Perhaps  we  should  have  felt  even  better  if  we  had  been 
dressed  differently,  for  we  wore  much  the  same  clothes  as 
those  in  which  we  did  our  work  on  the  river  —  a  woollen 
shirt  and  overalls.  Besides,  neither  Emery  nor  I  had 
shaved  since  starting,  and  it  is  quite  likely  that  we  looked 
just  a  little  uncouth.  Appearances  count  for  little  with 
these  people  in  the  little-settled  districts,  and  it  is  a 
common  enough  sight  to  them  to  see  men  dressed  as  we 
were.  They  did  everything  they  could  to  make  us  feel 
at  ease.  As  one  person  remarked, 

"The  wealthiest  cattle  man,  or  the  owner  of  the  richest 


88 

mine  in  the  country,  usually  looks  worse  than  all  others 
after  a  month  on  the  range  or  in  the  hills." 

If  wealth  were  indicated  on  an  inverse  ratio  to  one's 
good  appearance,  we  should  have  been  very  wealthy  in- 
deed. We  felt  as  if  it  would  take  us  a  week  to  get  rested, 
and  lost  little  time  in  getting  to  bed  when  the  party 
broke  up.  We  imagine  most  of  the  residents  of  Vernal 
were  Mormons.  It  is  part  of  their  creed  to  give  "  the 
stranger  within  their  gates"  a  cordial  welcome.  This, 
however,  was  accorded  to  us,  not  only  among  the  Mor- 
mons, but  in  every  section  of  our  journey  on  the  Green 
and  Colorado  rivers. 

The  following  day  was  a  busy  one.  Arrangements 
had  been  made  with  a  local  photographer  to  get  the  use 
of  his  dark  room,  and  we  proceeded  to  develop  all  plates 
and  many  of  our  films.  These  were  then  to  be  packed 
and  shipped  out.  We  were  informed  at  the  local  express 
office,  that  it  might  be  some  time  before  they  would  go, 
as  the  recent  rains  had  been  very  bad  in  Colorado  and 
had  washed  out  most  of  the  bridges. 

Vernal  had  passenger  transportation  to  the  railway  —  a 
branch  of  the  D.  &  R.  G.  running  north  into  Colorado 
—  by  automobile,  the  route  lying  across  the  Green  and 
also  across  the  White  River,  a  tributary  to  the  Green.  A 
steel  structure  had  been  washed  away  on  the  White 
River,  making  it  impossible  to  get  through  to  the  station. 
The  high  water  below  here  must  have  been  a  flood, 


AN  INLAND  EXCURSION  89 

judging  from  all  reports.  About  ten  bridges,  large  and 
small,  were  reported  as  being  washed  away  on  numerous 
branch  streams  leading  into  the  Green  River.  Fortu- 
nately Vernal  had  another  means  of  communication.  This 
was  a  stage  running  southwest  from  Vernal,  over  125 
miles  of  rough  road  to  Price,  Utah  —  Price  being  a  station 
on  the  main  line  of  the  D.  &  R.  G. 

Jimmy  concluded  that  he  would  take  this  road,  in 
preference  to  the  uncertainties  of  the  other  route,  and 
noon  that  day  found  him  on  board  the  stage.  He  prom- 
ised to  write  to  us,  and  was  anxious  to  hear  of  our 
success,  but  remarked  that  when  he  once  got  home  he 
would  "never  leave  San  Francisco  again."  There  was  a 
final  hand  clasp,  a  cheer  from  the  small  group  of  men,  and 
the  stage  drove  away  with  Jimmy,  a  happy  boy  indeed. 

Our  work  on  the  developing  progressed  well,  and  with 
very  satisfying  results  on  the  whole,  and  that  evening 
found  us  with  all  plates  packed  ready  for  shipment  to 
our  home.  The  moving-picture  film  was  also  packed  and 
shipped  to  be  developed  at  once.  This  was  quite  a  load 
off  our  minds. 

The  following  day  we  prepared  to  depart,  but  did  not 
leave  until  the  afternoon.  Then,  with  promises  to  let 
them  know  the  outcome  of  our  venture,  we  parted 
from  our  friends  and  rode  back  to  Jensen. 

We  planned  on  leaving  the  following  morning.  The 
river  had  fallen  one  foot  since  we  had  landed,  and  we  were 


90     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

anxious  to  have  the  benefit  of  the  high  water.  We 
were  told  that  it  was  six  feet  above  the  low-water  stage 
of  two  weeks  before. 

On  Monday,  October  the  9th,  after  loading  our  boats 
with  a  new  stock  of  provisions,  —  in  which  was  included  a 
few  jars  of  honey,  and  a  few  dozen  of  eggs,  packed  in 
sawdust,  —  we  began  what  might  be  called  the  second 
stage  of  our  journey ;  the  175-mile  run  to  Blake  or  Green 
River,  Utah,  a  little  west  of  south  from  Jensen.  Ten 
miles  below  Jensen  was  a  ferry  used  by  the  auto  and 
wagons.  Here  also  was  a  ranch  house,  with  a  number  of 
people  in  the  yard.  We  were  invited  to  land  and  did  so. 
They  had  been  informed  by  telephone  of  our  coming  and 
were  looking  for  us ;  indeed  they  had  even  prepared 
dinner  for  us,  hoping  we  would  reach  there  in  time. 
Not  knowing  all  this,  we  had  eaten  our  cold  lunch  half  an 
hour  before.  The  women  were  busy  preserving  fruits 
and  garden  truck,  and  insisted  on  us  taking  two  or  three 
jars  along.  This  was  a  welcome  change  to  the  dried 
fruit,  which  was  one  of  our  principal  foods.  These  people 
made  the  usual  request  — 

"Drop  us  a  post  card  if  you  get  through." 

The  memory  of  these  people  that  we  met  on  this 
journey  will  linger  with  us  as  long  as  we  live.  They 
were  always  anxious  to  help  us  or  cheer  us  on  our  way. 

We  passed  a  dredge  that  evening  and  saw  a  man  at 
work  with  a  team  and  scoop  shovel,  the  method  being 


AN  INLAND  EXCURSION  91 

to  scoop  up  the  gravel  and  sand,  then  dump  it  in  an  iron 
car.  This  was  then  pulled  by  the  horses  to  the  top  of 
a  derrick  up  a  sloping  track  and  dumped.  A  stream  of 
water  pumped  up  from  the  river  mixed  with  the  gravel, 
the  entire  mass  descended  a  long  zigzagging  chute.  We 
paused  a  few  minutes  only  and  did  not  examine  the  com- 
plicated process  of  separating  the  mineral  from  the  gravel. 
This  dredge  had  been  recently  installed.  We  camped 
early,  half  a  mile  below  the  dredge. 

Emery  had  been  feeling  poorly  all  this  day.  He 
blamed  his  indisposition  to  having  eaten  too  many 
good  things  when  in  Vernal  —  a  break  in  training,  as  it 
were.  This  was  our  excuse  for  a  short  run  that  day.  I 
played  nurse  and  gave  him  some  simple  remedy  from  the 
little  supply  that  we  carried ;  and,  after  he  was  in  his 
sleeping  bag,  I  filled  some  hot-water  bags  for  the  first 
time  on  the  trip,  and  soon  had  him  feeling  quite 
comfortable. 

A  hard  wind  came  up  that  night,  and  a  little  rain  fell. 
I  had  a  busy  half-hour  keeping  our  camp  from  being  blown 
away.  The  storm  was  of  short  duration,  and  all  was 
soon  quiet  again.  On  the  following  morning  Emery 
felt  so  good  that  I  had  a  hard  time  in  keeping  up  with 
him,  and  I  wondered  if  he  would  ever  stop.  Towards 
evening,  after  a  long  pull,  we  neared  the  reservation  of 
the  Uinta  Utes,  and  saw  a  few  Indians  camped  away 
from  the  river.  Here,  again,  were  the  cottonwood 


92      THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

bottoms,  banked  by  the  barren,  gravelly  hills.  We  had 
been  informed  that  there  was  a  settlement  called  Ouray, 
some  distance  down  the  river,  and  we  were  anxious  to 
reach  it  before  night.  But  the  river  was  sluggish,  with 
devious  and  twisting  channels,  and  it  was  dark  when  we 
finally  landed  at  the  Ouray  ferry. 


CHAPTER  IX 

CANYON    OF   DESOLATION 

OURAY,  Utah,  consisted  of  a  large  store  to  supply 
the  wants  of  the  Indians  and  ranchers,  a  small  hotel, 
and  a  few  dwellings.  The  agency  proper  was  located 
some  distance  up  the  Uinta  River,  which  stream  emptied 
into  the  Green,  just  below  Ouray. 

Supper  was  taken  at  the  hotel,  after  which  we  visited  a 
young  man  in  charge  of  the  store,  looking  over  his  curios 
and  listening  to  tales  of  his  life  here  among  these  Indians. 
They  were  peaceable  enough  now,  but  in  years  gone  by 
were  a  danger  to  be  reckoned  with.  We  slept  in  our  own 
beds  close  to  our  boats  by  the  river. 

The  following  morning,  when  we  were  ready  to  leave, 
a  small  crowd  gathered,  a  few  Indians  among  them.  Most 
of  the  Indians  were  big,  fat,  and  sleepy-looking.  Ap- 
parently they  enjoyed  the  care  of  the  government. 
A  mile  below  we  passed  several  squaws  and  numerous 
children  under  some  trees,  while  on  a  high  mound  stood 
a  lone  buck  Indian  looking  at  us  as  we  sped  by,  but  with- 

93 


94     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

out  a  single  movement  that  we  could  see.  He  still  stood 
there  as  we  passed  from  sight  a  mile  below.  It  might 
be  interesting  if  one  could  know  just  what  was  in  his  mind 
as  he  watched  us. 

A  mile  below  the  Uinta  River,  which  entered  on  the 
west,  we  passed  another  stream,  the  White  River,  entering 
from  the  east,  the  two  streams  adding  considerable 
water  to  the  Green  River.  We  passed  another  idle  dredge, 
also  some  mineral  workings  in  tunnels,  and  saw  two 
men  camped  on  the  shore  beside  them.  We  saw 
numerous  Indian  carvings  on  the  rocks,  but  judged  they 
were  recent  because  horses  figured  in  most  of  them.  In 
all  the  open  country  the  river  was  fringed  with  large 
cottonwood  trees,  alders  and  willow  thickets.  A  number 
of  islands  followed,  one  of  them  very  symmetrical  in 
shape,  with  cottonwood  trees  in  the  centre,  while  around 
the  edge  ran  a  fringe  of  bushes  looking  almost  like  a 
trimmed  hedge.  The  autumn  colouring  added  to  its 
beauty.  The  hedge,  as  we  called  it,  was  dark  red,  brown, 
yellow,  and  green ;  the  cottonwoods  were  a  light  yellow. 
After  we  had  passed  this  island,  a  deer,  confused  by  our 
voices,  jumped  into  the  river  fifty  yards  behind  us,  leaping 
and  swimming  as  he  made  for  the  shore.  We  had  no 
gun,  but  Emery  had  the  moving-picture  camera  at  hand, 
and  turned  it  on  the  deer.  The  hour  was  late,  however, 
and  we  had  little  hopes  of  its  success  as  a  picture.  The 
country  back  from  the  river  stretched  in  rolling,  barren 


CANYON  OF  DESOLATION  95 

hills  200  or  300  feet  high  —  a  continuation  of  the  Bad 
Lands  of  Utah,  which  lay  off  to  the  west. 

With  the  next  day's  travel  the  hills  lost  some  of  their 
barren  appearance.  Some  cattle  were  seen  early  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  following  day.  We  passed  a  cattle  man 
working  at  a  ferry,  who  had  just  taken  some  stock  across, 
which  other  men  had  driven  on  ahead.  He  was  busy, 
so  we  did  not  interrupt  him,  merely  calling  to  him  from 
the  boats,  drifting  meanwhile  with  the  current.  Soon  we 
saw  him  riding  down  the  shore  and  waited  for  him  to 
catch  up.  He  invited  us  to  camp  with  him  that  evening, 
remarking  that  he  had  "just  killed  a  beef."  We  thanked 
him,  but  declined,  as  it  was  early  and  we  had  only  travelled 
a  short  distance  that  day.  We  chatted  awhile,  and 
he  told  us  to  look  out  for  rapids  ahead.  He  was  rather 
surprised  when  he  learned  that  we  had  started  at  Green 
River,  Wyoming,  and  had  already  come  through  a  few 
rapids. 

"Where  are  you  going  to  stop  ? "  he  then  asked. 

On  being  told  that  our  destination  was  Needles, 
California,  he  threw  up  his  hands  with  an  expressive 
gesture,  then  added  soberly,  "Well,  boys,  I  sure  wish  you 
luck,"  and  rode  back  to  his  camp. 

We  had  difficulty  in  making  a  suitable  landing  that 
evening,  as  the  high  water  had  deposited  great  quantities 
of  black  mud  over  everything,  making  it  very  disagreeable 
when  we  left  the  boats.  We  finally  found  a  place  with 


96     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

less  mud  to  wade  through  than  on  most  of  the  banks 
seen,  and  tied  up  to  the  roots  of  a  tree. 

While  lying  in  our  beds  that  night  looking  at  the 
starlit  sky  —  such  a  sky  as  is  found  only  on  these  high 
plateaus  —  we  discovered  a  comet  directly  above  us. 
An  astronomer  would  have  enjoyed  our  opportunities 
for  observing  the  heavens.  No  doubt  this  comet  had 
been  heralded  far  and  wide,  but  we  doubt  if  any  one  saw 
it  to  better  advantage  than  did  we. 

Later,  some  coyotes,  possibly  in  chase  of  a  rabbit,  gave 
vent  to  their  yodeling  cry,  and  awakened  us  from  a  sound 
sleep.  They  were  in  a  little  lateral  canyon,  which 
magnified  and  gave  a  weird,  organ-like  echo  to  their 
calls  long  after  the  coyotes  themselves  had  passed  from 
hearing. 

The  nights  were  getting  warmer  as  we  travelled  south, 
but  not  so  warm  that  we  were  bothered  with  insects.  The 
same  reason  accounted  for  the  absence  of  snakes  or  scor- 
pions, for  no  doubt  there  were  plenty  of  both  in  warm 
weather  in  this  dry  country.  When  there  was  no  wind, 
the  silence  of  the  nights  was  impressive,  with  no  sound 
save  the  lapping  of  the  water  against  the  banks.  Some- 
times a  bird  in  the  trees  above  would  start  up  with  a 
twitter,  then  quiet  down  again.  On  occasions  the  air 
chambers  in  our  boats  would  contract  on  cooling  off,  mak- 
ing a  noise  like  the  boom  of  a  distant  gun,  every  little 
sound  being  magnified  by  the  utter  stillness  of  the  night. 


CANYON  OF  DESOLATION  97 

There  were  other  times  when  it  was  not  so  quiet. 
Hundreds  of  birds,  geese,  ducks  and  mud-hens  had  been 
seen  the  last  few  days.  Also  there  were  occasional 
cranes  and  herons,  over  a  thousand  miles  from  their 
breeding  place  at  the  mouth  of  the  Colorado.  As  dusk 
settled,  we  would  see  these  birds  abandon  their  feeding 
in  the  mud,  and  line  up  on  the  shore,  or  on  an  island,  and  go 
to  sleep.  Occasionally  one  of  these  birds  would  start 
up  out  of  a  sound  sleep  with  an  unearthly  squawk.  Pos- 
sibly an  otter  had  interrupted  its  dreams,  or  a  fox  had 
pounced  on  one  as  it  slept.  It  may  be  that  it  was  only  a 
bad  dream  of  these  enemies  that  caused  their  fright, 
but  whatever  it  was,  that  first  call  would  start  up  the 
entire  flock  and  they  would  circle  in  confusion  like  a 
stampeded  herd  of  cattle,  their  discordant  cries  putting 
an  end  to  the  stillness  of  the  night.  Finally  they  would 
settle  down  in  a  new  spot,  and  all  would  be  quiet  once 
more. 

We  saw  a  few  birds  that  were  strangers  to  us,  —  water 
birds  which  we  imagined  belonged  to  the  salt  water 
rather  than  the  inland  streams,  making  a  little  excursion, 
perhaps,  away  from  their  accustomed  haunts.  One 
type  we  saw  on  two  occasions,  much  like  a  gull,  but 
smaller,  pure  white  as  far  as  we  could  tell,  soaring  in 
graceful  flight  above  the  river. 

Camp  No.  26  was  close  to  the  beginning  of  a  new 
canyon.  The  country  had  been  changing  in  appearance 


98     THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

from  rather  flat  plains  to  small  bare  hills,  gradually 
increasing  in  height  with  smooth,  rounded  sides,  and 
going  up  to  a  point,  usually  of  a  dirty  clay  colour,  with 
little  vegetation  of  any  kind  on  them.  The  river  for 
miles  past  had  swept  in  long  graceful  curves,  the  hills 
being  close  to  the  river  on  the  outside  of  the  curve,  leaving 
a  big  flat  on  the  inside.  This  flat  gradually  sloped  back 
to  hills  of  an  equal  height  to  those  opposite.  Then  the 
curve  would  reverse,  and  the  same  conditions  would  be 
met  with  again,  but  on  opposite  sides  from  the  previous 
bend.  After  passing  a  creek  the  evening  before,  the 
hills  became  higher,  and  from  our  camp  we  could  see  the 
first  place  where  they  came  close  on  both  sides  to  the  river. 
We  felt  now  that  our  beautiful  tree-covered  canyons 
were  behind  us  and  from  now  on  we  would  be  hemmed 
in  by  the  great  eroded  canyons  of  the  Southwest.  We 
were  sorry  to  leave  those  others  behind,  and  could  easily 
understand  why  Major  Powell  had  named  this  Desola- 
tion Canyon. 

As  the  canyon  deepened  the  cliffs  were  cut  into  fan- 
tastic shapes,  as  is  usual  in  rocks  unprotected  by  vege- 
tation. There  was  a  hard  rock  near  the  top  in  places, 
which  overhung  a  softer  formation.  This  would  erode, 
giving  a  cornice-like  effect  to  the  cliffs.  Others  were 
surmounted  by  square  towers  and  these  were  capped  by 
a  border  of  little  squares,  making  the  whole  look  much 
like  a  castle  on  the  Rhine.  For  half  a  day  we  found  no 


CANYON  OF  DESOLATION  99 

rapids,  but  pulled  away  on  a  good  current.  The  walls 
gradually  grew  higher  and  were  more  rugged ;  a  few  trees 
cropped  out  on  their  sides.  At  noon  our  boats  were 
lashed  together  and  lunch  was  eaten  as  we  drifted.  We 
covered  about  three  miles  in  this  way,  taking  in  the 
scenery  as  we  passed.  We  saw  a  great  stone  arch,  or 
natural  bridge,  high  on  a  stupendous  cliff  to  our  right, 
and  wondered  if  any  one  had  ever  climbed  up  to  it.  Our 
lunch  was  no  more  than  finished  when  the  first  rapid  was 
heard  ahead  of  us.  Quickly  unlashing  our  boats,  we 
prepared  for  strenuous  work.  Friday  the  I3th  proved 
to  be  a  lucky  day;  thirteen  large  rapids  and  thirteen 
small  ones  were  placed  behind  us  before  we  camped  at 
Rock  Creek  —  a  splashing,  laughing  mountain  stream, 
no  doubt  containing  trout. 

The  following  morning  we  found  there  was  a  little 
ranch  house  below  us,  but,  though  we  called  from  our 
boats,  no  one  came  out.  We  wondered  how  any  one  could 
reach  this  out-of-the-way  place,  as  a  road  would  be  almost 
an  impossibility.  Later  we  found  a  well-constructed 
trail  on  the  right-hand  side  all  the  way  through  the 
canyon.  We  saw  a  great  many  cattle  travelling  this 
trail.  Some  were  drinking  at  the  river  when  we  swept 
into  view.  Our  boats  filled  them  with  alarm,  and  they 
scrambled  for  the  hillsides,  looking  after  us  with  frightened 
expressions  as  we  left  them  to  the  rear. 

We  put  in  a  full  day  at  running  rapids,  one  after  another, 


100  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

until  fifteen  large  ones  were  passed,  no  count  being  kept 
of  the  smaller  ones.  Some  of  these  rapids  resembled 
dams  from  six  to  twelve  feet  high,  with  the  water  falling 
abruptly  over  a  steep  slope.  Others  were  long  and 
rough,  with  swift  water  in  places.  Above  one  of  these 
we  had  landed,  then  found  we  could  get  a  much  better 
view  from  the  opposite  shore.  Emery  crossed  and 
landed,  I  followed.  We  had  been  having  heavy  winds 
all  day.  When  crossing  here  I  was  caught  by  a  sudden 
gust  of  wind  and  carried  to  the  head  of  the  rapid.  I  heard 
Emery  call,  "Look  out  for  the  big  rock!"  then  over  I 
went.  The  wind  and  water  together  had  turned  my  boat 
sideways,  and  try  as  I  would  I  could  not  get  it  turned 
around.  I  saw  the  rock  Emery  referred  to  straight 
ahead  of  me.  It  was  about  fifteen  feet  square  and 
about  fourteen  feet  from  the  shore,  with  a  powerful  current 
shooting  between  the  rock  and  the  shore.  It  seemed 
as  if  I  must  strike  the  rock  broadside,  and  I  ceased  my 
struggle,  but  held  out  an  oar  with  both  hands,  hoping  to 
break  the  blow.  But  it  never  came.  The  water  struck 
this  rock  with  great  force,  then  rebounded,  and  actually 
kept  me  from  even  touching  the  rock  with  the  oar,  but 
it  caught  the  boat  and  shot  it  through  the  narrow  channel, 
bow  first,  as  neatly  as  it  could  possibly  be  done,  then 
turned  the  boat  around  again  as  I  scrambled  to  regain 
my  hold  on  both  oars.  No  other  rocks  threatened, 
however,  and  besides  filling  the  cockpit  with  water,  no 
damage  was  done. 


CANYON  OF  DESOLATION  IOI 

Emery  had  no  desire  to  follow  my  passage  and  crossed 
back  to  the  other  side.  Shooting  over  the  upper  end 
of  the  rapid,  his  boat  ran  up  on  a  rounded  rock,  the 
stern  sticking  high  in  the  air;  it  paused  a  moment,  the 
current  slowly  turning  it  around  as  if  on  a  pivot,  and 
the  boat  slid  off;  then  down  he  came  lurching  and 
plunging,  but  with  no  more  difficulty.  Many  times  in 
such  places  as  these  we  saw  the  advantage  of  our  flat- 
bottomed  boats  over  one  with  a  keel,  for  these  would 
surely  be  upset  when  running  up  on  such  a  rock. 


CHAPTER  X 

HOSPITABLE    RANCHMEN 

THE  appearance  of  Desolation  Canyon  had  changed 
entirely  in  the  lower  end.  Instead  of  a  straight  canyon, 
without  a  break,  we  were  surrounded  by  mountain 
peaks  nearly  2500  feet  high,  with  many  side  canyons 
between  them  and  with  little  level  parks  at  the  end  of 
the  canyons  beside  the  river.  The  tops  were  pine- 
covered  ;  cedars  clung  to  the  rocky  slopes.  Some  of 
these  peaks  were  not  unlike  the  formations  of  the  Grand 
Canyon,  as  seen  from  the  inner  plateau,  and  the  red  colour- 
ing was  once  more  found  in  the  rocks. 

These  peaks  were  gradually  dropping  down  in  height ; 
and  at  one  open  section,  with  alfalfa  and  hay  fields 
on  gently  sloping  hillsides,  we  found  a  small  ranch, 
the  buildings  being  set  back  from  the  river.  We  con- 
cluded to  call  and  found  three  men,  the  rancher  and 
two  young  cowboys,  at  work  in  a  blacksmith  shop. 
Emery  had  forgotten  to  remove  his  life-preserver,  and  the 
men  looked  at  him  with  some  astonishment,  as  he  was  still 
soaking  wet  from  the  splashing  waves  of  the  last  rapid. 


HOSPITABLE  RANCHMEN  103 

When  I  joined  him  he  was  explaining  that  no  one  had 
been  drowned,  and  that  we  were  merely  making  an  ex- 
cursion down  the  river.  Mr.  McPherson,  the  rancher, 
we  learned,  owned  all  the  cattle  seen  up  the  river.  The 
little  cabin  at  our  last  camp  was  a  sort  of  headquarters 
for  his  cowboys.  The  cattle  were  just  being  driven  from 
the  mountains  before  the  snows  came,  and  were  to  be 
wintered  here  in  the  canyons.  Some  of  these  cattle  were 
much  above  the  usual  grade  of  range  cattle,  being 
thoroughbreds,  although  most  of  them  ran  loose  on  the 
range.  This  ranch  had  recently  lost  a  valuable  bull 
which  had  been  killed  by  a  bear  up  in  the  mountains  — 
not  unlike  similar  conflicts  in  more  civilized  sections  of 
the  country.  McPherson  camped  on  this  bear's  trail 
for  several  days  and  nights  before  he  finally  hung  his 
pelt  on  a  tree.  He  was  a  large  cinnamon-coloured  grizzly. 
Four  other  bears  had  been  killed  this  same  year,  in  these 
mountains. 

McPherson's  home  had  burned  down  a  short  time 
before  our  visit,  and  his  family  had  removed  to  Green 
River,  Utah.  A  number  of  tents  were  erected,  neatly 
boarded  up,  and  we  were  informed  that  one  of  these 
was  reserved  for  company,  so  we  need  not  think  of  going 
any  farther  that  day.  These  men,  while  absolutely 
fearless  in  the  saddle,  over  these  rough  mountain  trails, 
had  "no  use  for  the  river"  they  told  us  ;  in  fact,  we  found 
this  was  the  usual  attitude  of  the  cattle  men  wherever  we 


104  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

met  them.  McPherson's  respect  for  the  river  was  not 
without  reason,  as  his  father,  with  two  others,  had  been 
drowned  while  making  a  crossing  in  a  light  boat  near 
this  point,  some  years  before.  Some  accident  occurred, 
possibly  the  breaking  of  a  rowlock,  and  they  were  car- 
ried into  a  rapid.  McPherson's  men  found  it  necessary 
to  cross  their  cattle  back  and  forth,  but  always  took  the 
wise  precaution  to  have  on  some  life-preservers.  These 
cork  preservers  hung  in  the  blacksmith  shop,  where 
they  could  easily  be  reached  at  a  moment's  notice. 

Desolation  Canyon,  with  a  slight  breaking  down 
of  the  walls  for  a  short  distance  only,  gave  place  to 
Gray  Canyon  below  the  McPherson  Ranch.  A  good- 
sized  mountain  stream,  part  of  which  irrigated  the 
ranch  above,  found  its  way  through  this  division.  We 
had  been  told  that  more  rapids  lay  ahead  of  us  in  Gray 
Canyon,  but  they  were  not  so  numerous  in  our  next 
day's  travel.  What  we  did  find  were  usually  large,  but 
we  ran  them  all  without  difficulty.  About  noon  we  met 
five  men  in  a  boat,  rowing  up  the  stream  in  a  long,  still 
stretch.  They  told  us  they  were  working  on  a  dam,  a 
mile  or  two  below.  They  followed  us  down  to  see  us  make 
the  passage  through  the  rapid  which  lay  above  their 
camp.  The  rapid  was  long  and  rocky,  having  a  seventeen- 
foot  fall  in  a  half  mile.  We  picked  our  channel  by  stand- 
ing up  in  the  boat  before  entering  the  rapid  and  were  soon 
at  the  bottom  with  no  worse  mishap  than  bumping  a 


HOSPITABLE  RANCHMEN  105 

rock  or  two  rather  lightly.  We  had  bailed  out  and 
were  tying  our  boats,  when  the  men  came  panting  down 
the  hill  up  which  they  had  climbed  to  see  us  make  this 
plunge.  A  number  of  men  were  at  work  here,  but  this 
being  Sunday,  most  of  them  had  gone  to  Green  River, 
Utah,  twenty-one  miles  distant. 

Among  the  little  crowd  who  came  down  to  see  us  re- 
sume our  rowing  was  a  lady  and  a  little  girl  who  lived  in 
a  rock  building,  near  the  other  buildings  erected  for 
the  working-men.  Emery  showed  the  child  a  picture  of 
his  four-year-old  daughter,  Edith,  with  her  mother  —  a 
picture  he  always  carried  in  a  note-book.  Then  he  had 
her  get  in  the  boat  with  him,  and  we  made  a  photograph 
of  them.  They  were  very  good  friends  before  we  left. 

In  a  few  hours  we  emerged  from  the  low-walled  canyon 
into  a  level  country.  A  large  butte,  perhaps  700  feet 
high,  stood  out  by  itself,  a  mile  from  the  main  cliffs. 
This  was  Gunnison  Butte,  an  old  landmark  near  the 
Gunnison  trail.  We  were  anxious  to  reach  Blake  or 
Green  River,  Utah,  not  many  miles  below,  that  evening ; 
but  we  failed  to  make  it.  There  were  several  rapids, 
some  of  them  quite  large,  and  we  had  run  them  all  when 
we  came  to  a  low  dam  that  obstructed  our  passage. 
While  looking  it  over,  seeing  how  best  to  make  a  portage, 
a  young  man  whom  we  had  just  seen  remarked  : 

"Well,  boys,  you  had  better  tie  up  and  I  will  help  you 
in  the  morning." 


106  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

It  was  5.30  then,  and  we  were  still  six  miles  from  Green 
River,  so  we  took  his  advice  and  camped.  On  seeing 
our  sleeping  bags,  tightly  strapped  and  making  rather  a 
small  roll,  he  remarked : 

"Well,  you  fellows  are  not  Mormons;  I  can  tell  by 
the  size  of  your  beds  !" 

Our  new  friend  gave  the  name  of  Wolverton.  There 
was  another  man  named  Wilson  who  owned  a  ranch 
just  below  the  dam.  Both  of  these  men  were  much  in- 
terested in  our  experiences.  Wolverton  had  consider- 
able knowledge  of  the  river  and  of  boats  ;  very  little  per- 
suasion would  have  been  necessary  to  have  had  him  for 
a  companion  on  the  balance  of  our  journey.  But  we 
had  made  up  our  minds  to  make  it  alone,  now,  as  it  looked 
feasible.  Both  Wilson  and  Wolverton  knew  the  country 
below  Green  River,  Utah,  having  made  surveys  through 
much  of  the  surrounding  territory.  Wolverton  said  we 
must  surely  see  his  father,  who  lived  down  the  river 
and  who  was  an  enthusiast  on  motor  boats.  A  few 
minutes'  work  the  next  morning  sufficed  to  get  our 
boats  over  the  dam.  The  dam  was  constructed  of 
loose  rock  and  piles,  chinked  with  brush  and  covered 
with  sloping  planks,  —  just  a  small  dam  to  raise  the 
water  for  irrigation  purposes.  Much  of  the  water  ran 
through  the  canal ;  in  places  the  planks  were  dry,  in 
others  some  water  ran  over.  The  boats,  being  unloaded, 
were  pulled  up  on  these  planks,  then  slid  into  the  water 


PAT  LYNCH:  THE  CANYON  HERMIT. 


Copyright  by  Kolb  Bros. 


HOSPITABLE  RANCHMEN  107 

below.  Wilson  had  a  large  water  wheel  for  irrigation  pur- 
poses, the  first  of  several  such  wheels  which  we  were  to  see 
this  day.  These  wheels,  twenty  feet  or  more  in  height, 
—  with  slender  metal  buckets  each  holding  several  gallons 
of  water,  fastened  at  intervals  on  either  side,  —  were 
placed  in  a  swift  current,  anchored  on  the  shore  to  stout 
piles,  or  erected  over  mill-races  cut  in  the  banks.  There  they 
revolved,  the  buckets  filling  and  emptying  automatically, 
the  water  running  off  in  troughs  above  the  level  of  the 
river  back  to  the  fertile  soil.  Some  of  these  wheels  had 
ingenious  floating  arrangements  whereby  they  accom- 
modated themselves  to  the  different  stages  of  a  rising 
or  falling  river.  We  took  a  few  pictures  of  Wilson's 
place  before  leaving.  He  informed  us  that  he  had  tele- 
phoned to  certain  people  in  Green  River  who  would 
help  us  in  various  ways.  Two  hours'  rowing,  past  many 
pretty  little  ranches,  brought  us  to  the  railroad  bridge, 
a  grateful  sight  to  us.  A  pumping  plant  stood  beside 
the  bridge  under  charge  of  Captain  Yokey,  one  of  Wilson's 
friends.  Yokey  owned  a  large  motor  boat,  which  was 
tied  up  to  the  shore.  Our  boats  were  left  in  his  charge 
while  we  went  up  to  the  town,  a  mile  distant.  Another 
of  Wilson's  friends  met  us,  and  secured  a  dark  room  for 
us,  so  that  we  could  do  a  little  developing  and  we  pre- 
pared for  work  on  the  following  day. 

That   night    a    newspaper   reporter   hunted   us   out, 
anxious  for  a  story.     We  gave  him  what  we  had,  making 


108  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

light  of  our  previous  difficulties,  which  were  exciting 
enough  at  times ;  but  owing  to  the  comparatively  small 
size  of  the  stream,  we  seldom  thought  our  lives  were  in 
any  great  danger.  The  papers  made  the  most  of  these 
things,  and  the  stories  that  came  out  had  little  sem- 
blance to  our  original  statements.  We  have  since 
learned  that  no  matter  how  much  one  minimizes  such 
things,  they  are  seldom  published  as  reported. 

We  put  in  a  busy  day  unpacking  new  films  and  plates, 
developing  all  films  from  the  smaller  cameras  and  send- 
ing these  home.  A  new  stock  of  provisions  had  to  be 
purchased,  enough  for  one  month  at  least,  for  there  was 
no  chance  of  securing  supplies  until  we  reached  our  can- 
yon home,  about  425  miles  below. 

We  had  a  valuable  addition  to  our  cargo  in  two  metal 
boxes  that  had  been  shipped  here,  as  it  was  not  possible 
to  get  them  before  leaving  Wyoming.  These  cases  or 
trunks  were  sent  from  England,  and  were  water-tight, 
if  not  waterproof,  there  being  a  slight  difference.  Well 
constructed,  with  rubber  gaskets  and  heavy  clamps,  every 
possible  precaution  had  been  taken,  it  seemed,  to  exclude 
the  water  and  still  render  them  easy  of  access.  They 
were  about  thirty  inches  long,  fifteen  wide,  and  twelve 
high,  just  the  thing  for  our  photographic  material.  Up 
to  this  time  everything  had  to  be  kept  under  the  decks 
when  in  bad  water.  These  boxes  were  placed  in  the 
open  section  in  front  of  us,  and  were  thoroughly  fastened 


HOSPITABLE  RANCHMEN  109 

to  the  ribs  to  prevent  loss,  ready  to  be  opened  or  closed 
in  a  moment,  quite  a  convenience  when  pictures  had  to 
be  taken  hurriedly. 

The  following  day  we  went  over  the  boats,  caulking 
a  few  leaks.  The  bottoms  of  the  boats  were  considerably 
the  worse  for  wear,  owing  to  our  difficulties  in  the  first 
canyons.  We  got  some  thin  oak  strips  and  nailed  them 
on  the  bottom  to  help  protect  them,  when  portaging. 
Sliding  the  boats  on  the  scouring  sand  and  rough-sur- 
faced rock  was  hard  on  the  half-inch  boards  on  the  bottom 
of  the  boats.  This  work  was  all  completed  that  day,  and 
everything  was  ready  for  the  next  plunge. 

In  passing  the  station,  we  noticed  the  elevation  above 
sea-level  was  placed  at  4085  feet,  and  remembered  that 
Green  River,  Wyoming,  was  6080  feet,  showing  that  our 
descent  in  the  past  425  miles  had  been  close  to  2000  feet. 
We  had  not  found  it  necessary  to  line  or  portage  any 
rapids  since  leaving  Lodore  Canyon;  we  were  hopeful 
that  our  good  luck  would  continue. 

Nothing  was  to  be  feared  from  what  remained  of  the 
Green  River,  120  miles  or  more,  for  motor  boats  made  the 
journey  to  its  junction  with  the  Grand,  and  we  were 
told  even  ascended  the  Grand  for  some  distance.  Below 
this  junction  was  the  Colorado  River,  a  different  stream 
from  the  one  we  were  still  to  navigate. 

Before  leaving,  we  ate  a  final  hearty  breakfast  at  the 
boarding-house  where  we  had  been  taking  our  meals. 


HO  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

A  number  of  young  men,  clerks  in  some  of  the  business 
houses  here,  were  among  the  boarders.  The  landlady, 
a  whole-souled  German  woman  and  an  excellent  cook, 
was  greatly  worried  over  their  small  appetites,  thinking 
it  was  a  reflection  on  her  table.  She  remarked  that  she 
hoped  we  had  good  appetites,  and  I  am  sure  she  had 
no  complaint  to  make  so  far  as  we  were  concerned.  We 
had  never  stinted  ourselves  when  on  the  river,  but  the 
change  and  the  rest  seemed  to  give  us  an  abnormal 
appetite  that  could  not  be  satisfied,  and  we  would  simply 
quit  eating  because  we  were  ashamed  to  eat  more.  Less 
than  half  an  hour  after  one  of  these  big  meals,  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  my  brother  in  a  restaurant  with  a  sheepish 
grin  on  his  face,  and  with  a  good-sized  lunch  before  him. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WONDERS    OF    EROSION 

Thursday,  October  the  iQth.  We  embarked  again  with 
two  of  our  new-found  friends  on  board  as  passengers  for 
a  short  ride,  their  intention  being  to  hunt  as  they  walked 
back.  They  left  us  at  a  ranch  beside  the  San  Rafael 
River,  a  small  stream  entering  from  the  west.  They 
left  some  mail  with  us  to  be  delivered  to  Mr.  Wolverton, 
whose  son  we  had  met  above.  About  20  miles  below 
Green  River  we  reached  his  home.  Judging  by  a  number 
of  boats  —  both  motor  and  row  boats  —  tied  to  his 
landing,  Mr.  Wolverton  was  an  enthusiastic  river-man. 
After  glancing  over  his  mail,  he  asked  how  we  had  come 
and  was  interested  when  he  learned  that  we  were  making 
a  boating  trip.  He  was  decidedly  interested  when  he 
saw  the  boats  and  learned  that  we  were  going  to  our 
home  in  the  Grand  Canyon.  His  first  impression  was 
that  we  were  merely  making  a  little  pleasure  trip  on  the 
quiet  water. 

Going  carefully  over  the  boats,  he  remarked  that  they 
met  with  his  approval  with  one  exception.  They 


112  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

seemed  to  be  a  little  bit  short  for  the  heavy  rapids  of  the 
Colorado,  he  thought.  He  agreed  that  our  experience 
in  the  upper  rapids  had  been  good  training,  but  said  there 
was  no  comparison  in  the  rapids.  We  would  have  a 
river  ten  times  as  great  as  in  Lodore  to  contend  with ; 
and  in  numerous  places,  for  short  distances,  the  descent 
was  as  abrupt  as  anything  we  had  seen  on  the  Green. 
Wolverton  was  personally  acquainted  with  a  number  of 
the  men  who  had  made  the  river  trip,  and,  with  the  one 
exception  of  Major  Powell's  expeditions,  had  met  all 
the  parties  who  had  successfully  navigated  its  waters. 
This  not  only  included  Galloway's  and  Stone's  respective 
expeditions,  which  had  made  the  entire  trip,  but  included 
two  other  expeditions  which  began  at  Green  River,  Utah, 
and  had  gone  through  the  canyons  of  the  Colorado.1 
These  were  the  Brown-Stanton  expedition,  which  made 
a  railroad  survey  through  the  canyons  of  the  Colorado ; 
and  another  commonly  known  as  the  Russell-Monnette 
expedition,  two  of  the  party  making  the  complete  trip, 
arriving  at  Needles  after  a  voyage  filled  with  adventure 
and  many  narrow  escapes.  Mr.  Wolverton  remarked 
that  every  one  knew  of  those  who  had  navigated  the  entire 
series  of  canyons,  but  that  few  people  knew  of  those  who 


1  Brown-Stanton.     May  25,  1889. 
Russell-Monnette.     Sept.  20,  1907. 

For  a  more  complete  record  of  these  expeditions,  as  well  as  others  who  attempted 
the  passage  of  the  canyons  below  this  point,  see  appendix. 


WONDERS  OF  EROSION  113 

had  been  unsuccessful.  He  knew  of  seven  parties  that 
had  failed  to  get  through  Cataract  Canyon's  forty-one 
miles  of  rapids,  with  their  boats,  most  of  them  never 
being  heard  of  again. 

These  unsuccessful  parties  were  often  miners  or  pros- 
pectors who  wished  to  get  into  the  comparatively  flat 
country  which  began  about  fifty  miles  below  the  Junction 
of  the  Green  and  the  Grand  rivers.  Here  lay  Glen 
Canyon,  with  150  miles  of  quiet  water.  Nothing  need 
be  feared  in  this,  or  in  the  120  miles  of  good  boating  from 
Green  River,  Utah,  to  the  junction.  Between  these  two 
points,  however,  lay  Cataract  Canyon,  beginning  at 
the  junction  of  the  two  rivers.  Judging  by  its  unsavory 
record,  Cataract  Canyon  was  something  to  be  feared. 

Among  these  parties  who  had  made  short  trips  on  the 
river  was  one  composed  of  two  men.  Phil  Foote  was 
a  gambler,  stage  robber,  and  bad  man  in  general.  He 
had  broken  out  of  jail  in  Salt  Lake  City  and,  accompanied 
by  another  of  similar  character,  stole  a  boat  at  Green 
River,  Utah,  and  proceeded  down  the  river.  Soon  after 
entering  Cataract  Canyon,  they  lost  their  boat  and  provi- 
sions. Finding  a  tent  which  had  been  washed  down  the 
river,  they  tore  it  into  strips  and  constructed  a  raft  out 
of  driftwood,  tying  the  logs  together  with  the  strips  of 
canvas.  Days  of  hardship  followed,  and  starvation  stared 
them  in  the  face ;  until  finally  Foote's  partner  gave  up, 
and  said  he  would  drown  himself.  With  an  oath  Foote 


114  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

drew  his  revolver,  saying  he  had  enough  of  such  cowardice 
and  would  save  him  the  trouble.  His  companion  then 
begged  for  his  life,  saying  he  would  stick  to  the  end,  and 
they  finally  got  through  to  the  Kite  ranch,  which  lay  a 
short  distance  below.  They  were  taken  care  of  here, 
and  terminated  their  voyage  a  short  distance  beyond, 
going  out  over  land.  Foote  was  afterwards  shot  and 
killed  while  holding  up  a  stage  in  Nevada. 

The  Hite  ranch  also  proved  to  be  a  place  of  refuge  for 
others,  the  sole  survivors  of  two  other  parties  who  were 
wrecked,  one  person  escaping  on  each  occasion.  Kite's 
ranch,  and  Lee's  Ferry,  140  miles  below  Hite,  had  mail 
service.  We  had  left  instructions  at  the  post-office  to 
forward  our  mail  to  one  or  the  other  of  these  points. 
These  were  also  the  only  places  on  our  425-mile  run  to 
Bright  Angel  Trail  where  we  could  expect  to  see  any 
people,  so  we  were  informed.  We  were  about  to  descend 
into  what  is,  possibly,  the  least  inhabited  portion  of  the 
United  States  of  America. 

A  party  of  civil  engineers  working  here,  joined  us 
that  evening  at  Wolverton's  home.  A  young  man  in 
the  party  asked  us  if  we  would  consent  to  carry  a  letter 
through  with  us  and  mail  it  at  our  destination.  He 
thought  it  would  be  an  interesting  souvenir  for  the  person 
to  whom  it  was  addressed.  We  agreed  to  do  our  best, 
but  would  not  guarantee  delivery.  The  next  morning 
two  letters  were  given  us  to  mail,  and  were  accepted 


SKELETON    FOUND    IN    THE    GRAND    CANYON. 


WONDERS  OF  EROSION  115 

with  this  one  reservation.  Before  leaving  Mr.  Wolverton 
showed  us  his  motor  boat  with  much  pardonable  pride. 
On  this  boat  he  sometimes  took  small  parties  down  to 
the  beginning  of  the  Colorado  River,  and  up  the  Grand, 
a  round  trip  of  three  hundred  miles  or  more.  The  boat 
had  never  been  taken  down  the  Colorado  for  the  simple 
reason  that  the  rapids  began  almost  immediately  below 
the  junction. 

Wolverton,  while  he  had  never  been  through  the 
rapids  in  a  boat,  had  followed  the  river  on  foot  for  several 
miles  and  was  thoroughly  familiar  with  their  nature. 
On  parting  he  remarked, 

"Well,  boys,  you  are  going  to  tackle  a  mighty  hard 
proposition,  but  I'm  sure  you  can  make  it  if  you  are  only 
careful.  But  look  out  and  go  easy." 

Wolverton  was  no  novice,  speaking  from  much  experi- 
ence in  bad  water,  and  we  were  greatly  impressed  by 
what  he  had  to  say. 

Five  uneventful  days  were  spent  in  Labyrinth  and 
Stillwater  canyons,  through  which  the  Green  peace- 
fully completed  its  rather  violent  descent.  In  the  upper 
end  we  usually  found  rough  water  in  the  canyons  and 
quiet  water  in  the  open  sections.  Here  at  least  were  two 
canyons,  varying  from  300  feet  at  their  beginning  to  1300 
feet  in  depth,  both  without  a  rapid.  The  first  of  these  was 
Labyrinth  Canyon,  so  named  from  its  elaborately  wind- 
ing course  as  well  as  its  wonderful  intricate  system  of 


Il6  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

dry,  lateral  canyons,  and  its  reproduction  in  rock  of  archi- 
tectural forms,  castles,  arches,  and  grottos  ;  even  animals 
and  people  were  represented  in  every  varying  form. 

Our  Sunday  camp  was  beside  what  might  be  called 
a  serpentine  curve  or  series  of  loops  in  the  river.  This 
was  at  the  centre  of  what  is  known  as  the  Double  Bow 
Knot,  three  rounded  loops,  very  symmetrical  in  form,  with 
an  almost  circular  formation  of  flat-topped  rock,  a  mile  or 
more  in  diameter  in  the  centre  of  each  loop.  A  narrow 
neck  of  rock  connects  these  formations  to  the  main  mesa,  all 
being  on  the  same  level,  about  700  feet  above  the  river. 
The  upper  half  of  the  rock  walls  was  sheer ;  below  was  a 
steep  boulder-covered  slope.  The  centre  formation  is 
the  largest  and  most  perfect,  being  nearly  two  miles  in 
diameter  and  almost  round ;  so  much  so,  that  a  very 
few  minutes  are  necessary  to  climb  over  the  narrow  neck 
which  connects  this  formation  to  the  mesa.  It  took 
45  minutes  of  hard  rowing  on  a  good  current  to  take  us 
around  this  one  loop.  The  neck  is  being  rapidly  eroded, 
two  hundred  feet  having  disappeared  from  the  top,  and 
at  some  distant  day  will  doubtless  disappear  entirely, 
making  a  short  cut  for  the  river,  and  will  leave  a  rounded 
island  of  rock  standing  seven  hundred  feet  above  the 
river.  A  bird's-eye  view  of  the  three  loops  would  com- 
pare well  in  shape  to  the  little  mechanical  contrivance 
known  as  the  "eye"  in  the  combination  of  "hook  and 
eye."  All  women  and  many  men  will  get  a  clear  idea 


WONDERS  OF  EROSION  117 

of  the  shape  of  the  Double  Bow  Knot  from  this  com- 
parison. 

We  recorded  an  interesting  experiment  with  the  ther- 
mometer at  this  camp,  showing  a  great  variety  of  tem- 
peratures, unbelievable  almost  to  one  who  knows  noth- 
ing of  conditions  in  these  semi-arid  plateaus.  A  little 
ice  had  formed  the  night  before.  Under  a  clear  sky  the 
next  day  at  noon,  our  thermometer  recorded  54  degrees  in 
the  shade,  but  ran  up  to  102  degrees  in  the  sun.  At  the 
same  time  the  water  in  the  river  was  52  degrees  Far. 
The  effect  of  being  deluged  in  ice-cold  waves,  then  running 
into  deep  sunless  canyons  with  a  cold  wind  sweeping 
down  from  the  snow  on  top,  can  be  easier  imagined  than 
described.  This  is  what  we  could  expect  to  meet  later. 

The  colouring  of  the  rocks  varied  greatly  in  many  lo- 
calities, a  light  red  predominating.  In  some  places  the 
red  rock  was  capped  by  a  gray,  flint-like  limestone;  in 
others  this  had  disappeared,  but  underneath  the  red 
were  regular  strata  of  various-coloured  rocks,  pink, 
brown,  light  yellow,  even  blue  and  green  being  found  in 
two  or  three  sections. 

The  forms  of  erosion  were  as  varied  as  the  rock  itself, 
each  different-coloured  rock  stratum  presenting  a  different 
surface.  In  one  place  the  surface  was  broken  into  rounded 
forms  like  the  backs  of  a  herd  of  elephants.  In  others 
we  saw  reproductions  of  images,  carved  by  the  drifting 
sands  —  a  Diana,  with  uplifted  arm,  as  large  as  the 


Il8  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

Goddess  of  Liberty;  a  Billiken  on  a  throne  with  a  hun- 
dred worshippers  bowed  around.  Covered  with  nature- 
made  ruins  and  magnificent  rock  structures,  as  this 
section  is,  it  is  not  entirely  without  utility.  It  is  a  grazing 
country.  Great  numbers  of  contented  cattle,  white- 
faced,  with  red  and  white,  or  black  and  white  patches  of 
colour  on  their  well-filled  hides,  were  found  in  the  open 
spaces  between  the  sheer-walled  cliffs.  Dusty,  well- 
beaten  trails  led  down  through  these  wide  canyons, 
trails  which  undoubtedly  gained  the  top  of  the  level, 
rocky  plateau  a  few  miles  back  from  the  river.  As  is 
usual  in  a  cattle  country  at  the  end  of  the  summer  season, 
the  bunch-grass,  close  to  the  water  supply  —  which  in 
this  case  happened  to  the  river  —  was  nibbled  close 
to  the  roots.  The  cattle  only  came  here  to  drink,  then 
travelled  many  miles,  no  doubt,  to  the  better  grazing  on 
the  upper  plateaus.  The  sage,  always  gray,  was  grayer 
still,  with  dust  raised  by  many  passing  herds.  There 
was  a  band  of  range  horses  too,  those  splendid  wild-eyed 
animals  with  kingly  bearing,  and  wind-blown  tails  and 
manes,  lean  like  a  race-horse,  strong-muscled  and  tough- 
sinewed,  pawing  and  neighing,  half  defiant  and  half 
afraid  of  the  sight  of  men,  the  only  thing  alive  to  which 
they  pay  tribute. 

It  is  a  never  ending  source  of  wonder,  to  those  un- 
acquainted with  the  semi-arid  country,  how  these  ani- 
mals can  exist  in  a  land  which,  to  them,  seems  utterly 


WONDERS  OF  EROSION  119 

destitute  and  barren.  To  many  such,  a  meadow  car- 
peted with  blue  grass  or  timothy  is  the  only  pasture  on 
which  grazing  horses  or  grazing  cattle  can  exist;  the 
dried-out  looking  tufts  of  bunch-grass,  scattered  here 
and  there  or  sheltered  at  the  roots  of  the  sage,  mean 
nothing;  the  grama-grass  hidden  in  the  grease-wood 
is  unnoticed  or  mistaken  for  a  weed. 

But  if  the  land  was  bare  of  verdure,  the  rock  saved 
it  from  being  monotonous.  Varied  in  colour,  the  red  rock 
predominated  —  blood-red  at  mid-day,  orange-tinted 
at  sunset,  with  gauze-like  purple  shadows,  and  with  the 
delicate  blue  outlines  always  found  in  the  Western  dis- 
tances ;  such  a  land  could  never  be  called  uninteresting. 

The  banks  of  the  stream,  here  in  the  open,  were  always 
green.  From  an  elevation  they  appeared  like  two  emerald 
bands  through  a  land  of  red,  bordering  a  stream  the  tint 
of  the  aged  pottery  found  along  its  shores.  We  were 
continually  finding  new  trees  and  strange  shrubs.  Beside 
the  cottonwoods  and  the  willows  there  was  an  occasional 
wild-cherry  tree;  in  the  shrubs  were  the  service-berry, 
and  the  squaw-berry,  with  sticky,  acid-tasting  fruit. 
The  cacti  were  small,  and  excepting  the  prickly  pear 
were  confined  nearly  altogether  to  a  small  "pin-cush- 
ion" cactus,  growing  a  little  larger  as  we  travelled 
south.  And  always  in  the  mornings  when  out  of  the 
deep  canyons  the  moist,  pungent  odour  of  the  sage  greeted 
our  nostrils.  It  is  inseparable  from  the  West.  There  is 


120  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

no  stuffy  germ-laden  air  there,  out  in  the  sage ;  one  is 
glad  to  live,  simply  to  breathe  it  in  and  exhale  and  breathe 
again. 

In  Stillwater  Canyon  the  walls  ran  up  to  1300  feet 
in  height,  a  narrow  canyon,  with  precipitous  sides. 
Occasionally  we  could  see  great  columns  of  rock  standing 
on  top  of  the  mesa.  Late  one  evening  we  saw  some  small 
cliff  dwellings  several  hundred  feet  above  the  river,  and 
a  few  crude  ladders  leaning  against  the  cliff  below  the 
dwellings.  A  suitable  camp  could  not  be  made  here,  or 
we  would  have  stopped  to  examine  them.  The  shores 
were  slippery  with  mud  and  quicksands,  and  there  was 
no  fire-wood  in  sight.  From  here  to  the  end  of  the  canyons 
we  would  have  to  depend  almost  entirely  on  the  drift- 
piles  for  fire- wood. 

A  landing  was  finally  made  where  a  section  of  a  cliff 
had  toppled  from  above,  affording  a  solid  footing  leading 
up  to  the  higher  bank.  We  judged  from  our  maps  that 
we  were  within  a  very  few  miles  of  the  Colorado  River. 
Here  some  footprints  and  signs  of  an  old  boat  landing, 
apparently  about  a  week  old,  were  seen  in  the  sand. 
This  surprised  us  somewhat,  as  we  had  heard  of  no  one 
coming  down  ahead  of  us. 


CHAPTER  XII 

COULD   WE    SUCCEED  ? 

AN  hour  or  two  at  the  oars  the  next  morning  sufficed 
to  bring  us  to  the  junction  of  the  Green  and  the  Grand 
rivers.  We  tied  up  our  boats,  and  prepared  to  climb 
out  on  top,  as  we  had  a  desire  to  see  the  view  from  above. 
A  mile  back  on  the  Green  we  had  noticed  a  sort  of  canyon 
or  slope  breaking  down  on  the  west  side,  affording  a 
chance  to  reach  the  top.  Loading  ourselves  with  a 
light  lunch,  a  full  canteen,  and  our  smaller  cameras,  we 
returned  to  this  point  and  proceeded  to  climb  out.  Pow- 
ell's second  expedition  had  climbed  out  at  this  same 
place;  Wolverton  had  also  mentioned  the  fact  that  he 
had  been  out ;  so  we  were  quite  sure  of  a  successful  at- 
tempt before  we  made  the  climb. 

The  walk  close  to  the  river,  pver  rocks  and  along 
narrow  ledges,  was  hard  work;  the  climb  out  was  even 
more  so.  The  contour  maps  which  we  carried  credited 
these  walls  with  1300  feet  height.  If  we  had  any  doubt 
concerning  the  accuracy  of  this,  it  disappeared  before  we 
finally  reached  the  top.  What  we  saw,  however,  was 


122  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

worth  all  the  discomfort  we  had  undergone.  Close  to 
the  top,  three  branches  of  dry,  rock-bottomed  gullies, 
carved  from  a  gritty,  homogeneous  sandstone,  spread 
out  from  the  slope  we  had  been  climbing.  These  were 
less  precipitous.  Taking  the  extreme  left-hand  gully, 
we  found  the  climb  to  the  top  much  easier.  At  the  very 
end  we  found  an  irregular  hole  a  few  feet  in  diameter, 
not  a  cave,  but  an  opening  left  between  some  immense 
rocks,  touching  at  the  top,  seemingly  rolled  together. 

Gazing  down  through  this  opening,  we  were  amazed 
to  find  that  we  were  directly  above  the  Colorado  itself. 
It  was  so  confusing  at  first  that  we  had  to  climb  to  the 
very  top  to  see  which  river  it  was,  I  contending  that  it 
was  the  Green,  until  satisfied  that  I  was  mistaken.  The 
view  from  the  top  was  overwhelming,  and  words  can 
hardly  describe  what  we  saw,  or  how  we  were  affected 
by  it. 

We  found  ourselves  on  top  of  an  irregular  plateau 
of  solid  rock,  with  no  earth  or  vegetation  save  a  few  little 
bushes  and  some  very  small  cedars  in  cracks  in  the  rocks. 
Branching  canyons,  three  or  four  hundred  feet  in  depth, 
and  great  fissures  ran  down  in  this  rock  at  intervals.  Some 
were  dark  and  crooked,  and  the  bottom  could  not  be  seen. 
Between  these  cracks,  the  rock  rounded  like  elephants' 
backs  sloping  steeply  on  either  side.  Some  could  be  crossed, 
some  could  not.  Others  resembled  a  "maze,"  the  puzzle 
being  how  to  get  from  one  point  to  another  a  few 


COULD  WE  SUCCEED?  123 

feet  away.  The  rock  was  a  sandstone  and  presented 
a  rough  surface  affording  a  good  hold,  so  there  was  little 
danger  of  slipping.  We  usually  sat  down  and  "inched" 
our  way  to  the  edge  of  the  cracks,  jumping  across  to 
little  ledges  when  possible,  always  helping  each  other. 

The  rock  at  the  very  edge  of  the  main  canyon  over- 
hung, in  places  75  to  100  feet,  and  the  great  mass  of 
gigantic  boulders  —  sections  of  shattered  cliffs  —  on  the 
steep  slope  near  the  river  gave  evidence  of  a  continual 
breaking  away  of  these  immense  rocks. 

To  the  north,  across  the  canyon  up  which  we  had 
climbed,  were  a  great  number  of  smooth  formations, 
from  one  hundred  to  four  hundred  feet  high,  rounded  on 
top  in  domes,  reminding  one  of  Bagdad  and  tales  from  the 
Arabian  Nights.  "The  Land  of  Standing  Rocks,"  the 
Utes  call  it.  The  rock  on  which  we  stood  was  light 
gray  or  nearly  white ;  the  river  walls  at  the  base  for  a 
thousand  feet  above  the  river  were  dark  red  or  chocolate- 
brown  ;  while  the  tops  of  the  formations  above  this  level 
were  a  beautiful  light  red  tint. 

But  there  were  other  wonders.  On  the  south  side 
of  the  Colorado's  gorge,  miles  away,  were  great  spires, 
pointing  heavenward,  singly  and  in  groups,  looking  like 
a  city  of  churches.  Beyond  the  spires  were  the  Blue 
Mountains,  to  the  east  the  hazy  LaSalle  range,  and 
nearest  of  all  on  the  west  just  north  of  the  Colorado  lay 
the  snow-covered  peaks  of  the  Henry  Mountains.  Di- 


124  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

rectly  below  us  was  the  Colorado  River,  muddy,  swirling, 
and  forbidding.  A  mile  away  boomed  a  rapid,  beyond 
that  was  another,  then  the  river  was  lost  to  view. 

Standing  on  the  brink  of  all  this  desolation,  it  is 
small  wonder  if  we  recalled  the  accounts  of  the  disasters 
which  had  overtaken  so  many  others  in  the  canyon 
below  us.  Many  who  had  escaped  the  water  had  climbed 
out  on  to  this  death  trap,  as  it  had  proven  to  be  for  them, 
some  to  perish  of  thirst  and  starvation,  a  few  to  stagger 
into  the  ranch  below  the  canyon,  a  week  or  more  after 
they  had  escaped  from  the  water.  Small  wonder  that 
some  of  these  had  lost  their  reason.  We  could  only 
conjecture  at  the  fate  of  the  party  whose  wrecked  boat 
had  been  found  by  the  Stone  expedition,  a  few  miles  below 
this  place,  with  their  tracks  still  fresh  in  the  sand.  No 
trace  of  them  was  ever  found. 

For  the  first  time  it  began  to  dawn  on  us  that  we 
might  have  tackled  a  job  beyond  our  power  to  complete. 
Most  of  the  parties  which  had  safely  completed  the  trip 
were  composed  of  several  men,  adding  much  to  the  safety 
of  the  expedition,  as  a  whole.  Others  had  boats  much 
lighter  than  ours,  a  great  help  in  many  respects.  Speak- 
ing for  myself,  I  was  just  a  little  faint-hearted,  and  not 
a  little  overawed  as  we  prepared  to  return  to  the  boats. 

While  returning,  we  saw  evidences  of  ancient  Indians 
—  some  broken  arrow-heads,  and  pottery  also,  and  a 
small  cliff  ruin  under  a  shelving  rock. 


Copyright  bu  Kolb  Bros. 
THIRTEEN   HUNDRED   FEET  ABOVE  THE   GREEN   RIVER.    NOTE    FIGURE. 


COULD  WE  SUCCEED?  125 

What  could  an  Indian  find  here  to  interest  him  ! 
We  had  found  neither  bird,  nor  rabbit ;  not  even  a  lizard 
in  the  Land  of  Standing  Rocks.  Perhaps  they  were  sun 
worshippers,  and  wanted  an  unobstructed  view  of  the 
eastern  sky.  That  at  least  could  be  had,  in  unrivalled 
grandeur,  here  above  the  Rio  Colorado. 

The  shadows  were  beginning  to  lengthen  when  we 
finally  reached  our  boats  at  the  junction.  Camp  was 
made  under  a  large  weeping  willow  tree,  the  only  tree 
of  its  kind  we  remembered  having  seen  on  the  journey. 

While  Emery  prepared  a  hasty  meal  I  made  a  few 
arrangements  for  embarking  on  the  Colorado  River  the 
next  morning.  We  were  prepared  to  bid  farewell  to 
the  Green  River  —  the  stream  that  had  served  us  so 
well.  In  spite  of  our  trials,  even  in  the  upper  canyons, 
we  had  found  much  enjoyment  in  our  passage  through  its 
strange  and  beautiful  surroundings. 

From  a  scenic  point  of  view  the  canyons  of  the  Green 
River,  with  their  wonderful  rock  formations  and  stupend- 
ous gorges,  are  second  only  to  those  of  the  Colorado  itself. 
It  is  strange  they  are  so  little  known,  when  one  considers 
the  comparative  ease  with  which  these  canyons  on  the 
lower  end  can  be  reached.  Some  day  perhaps,  surfeited 
globe-trotters,  after  having  tired  of  commonplace  scenery 
and  foreign  lands,  will  learn  what  a  wonderful  region 
this  is,  here  on  the  lower  end  of  the  Green  River. 

Then  no   doubt,  Wolverton,  or  others  with   similar 


126  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

outfits,  will  find  a  steady  stream  of  sight-seers  anxious 
to  take  the  motor  boat  ride  down  to  this  point,  and  up 
to  Moab,  Utah,  a  little  Mormon  town  on  the  Grand  River. 
A  short  ride  by  automobile  from  Moab  to  the  D.  &  R.  G. 
railway  would  complete  a  most  wonderful  journey ;  then 
the  transcontinental  journey  could  be  resumed. 

So  I  mused,  as  I  contrived  an  arrangement  of  iron 
hooks  and  oak  sticks  to  hold  on  a  hatch  cover,  from  which 
all  the  thumb  screws  had  been  lost.  More  than  likely 
my  dream  of  a  line  of  sight-seeing  motor  boats  will  be 
long  deferred ;  or  they  may  even  meet  the  fate  of  Brown's 
and  Stanton's  plans  for  a  railroad  down  these  gorges. 

As  a  reminder  of  the  fate  which  overtakes  so  many 
of  our  feeble  plans,  we  found  a  record  of  Stanton's  survey 
on  a  fallen  boulder,  an  inscription  reading  "A  81  +  50, 
Sta.  D.C.C.  &  P.R.R.,"  the]  abbreviations  standing 
for  Denver,  Colorado  Canyons,  and  Pacific  Railroad. 
It  is  possible  that  the  hands  that  chiselled  the  inscription 
belonged  to  one  of  the  three  men  who  were  afterwards 
drowned  in  Marble  Canyon. 

Emery  —  being  very  practical  —  interrupted  my  rev- 
ery  and  plans  for  future  sight-seers  by  announcing  sup- 
per. The  meal  was  limited  in  variety,  but  generous  in 
quantity,  and  consisted  of  a  dried-beef  stew,  fried  potatoes, 
and  cocoa.  A  satisfied  interior  soon  dispelled  all  our 
previous  apprehensiveness.  We  decided  not  to  run  our 
rapids  before  we  came  to  them. 


COULD  WE  SUCCEED?  127 

The  water  still  gave  indications  of  being  higher  than 
the  low-water  mark,  although  it  was  falling  fast  on  the 
Green  River.  Each  morning,  for  three  days  previous 
to  our  arrival  at  the  junction,  we  would  find  the  water 
about  six  inches  lower  than  the  stage  of  the  evening  be- 
fore. Strange  to  say,  we  gained  on  the  water  with  each 
day's  rowing,  until  we  had  almost  overtaken  the  stage 
of  water  we  had  lost  during  the  night.  More  than  likely 
we  would  have  all  the  water  we  needed  under  the  new 
conditions  which  were  before  us. 

Beginning  with  the  Colorado  River,  we  made  our 
journals  much  more  complete  in  some  ways,  giving  all 
the  large  rapids  a  number  and  describing  many  of  them 
in  detail.  This  was  done,  not  only  for  our  own  satis- 
faction, but  for  the  purpose  of  comparison  with  others  who 
had  gone  through,  for  many  of  these  rapids  have  histories. 

It  was  often  a  question,  when  on  the  Green  River, 
where  to  draw  the  line  when  counting  a  rapid ;  this  was 
less  difficult  when  on  the  Colorado.  While  the  descent 
was  about  the  same  as  in  some  of  the  rapids  above,  the 
increased  volume  of  water  made  them  look  and  act 
decidedly  different.  We  drew  the  line,  when  counting  a 
rapid,  at  a  descent  having  a  decided  agitation  of  the  water, 
hidden  rocks,  or  swift  descent  and  with  an  eddy  or  whirl- 
pool below.  Major  Powell  considered  that  many  of 
these  drops  in  the  next  canyon  were  above  the  ordinary 
rapid,  hence  the  name,  Cataract  Canyon. 


128  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

At  one  of  the  camps  below  Green  River,  Utah,  my 
boat  had  been  christened  the  Defiance,  by  painting  the 
name  on  the  bow.  After  leaving  the  Green  we  usually 
referred  to  the  boats  by  their  respective  names,  Emery 
being  in  the  Edith,  I  in  the  Defiance. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A    COMPANION    VOYAGER 

THURSDAY  morning,  October  the  26th,  found  Emery 
feeling  very  poorly,  but  insisting  on  going  ahead  with 
our  day's  work,  so  Camp  No.  34  was  soon  behind  us. 
We  were  embarked  on  a  new  stream,  flowing  west-south- 
west, with  a  body  of  water  ten  times  the  size  of  that 
which  we  had  found  in  the  upper  canyons  of  the  Green. 
Our  sixteen-foot  boats  looked  quite  small  when  compared 
with  the  united  currents  of  the  Green  and  the  Grand 
rivers.  The  Colorado  River  must  have  been  about 
3 50  feet  wide  here  just  below  the  junction,  with  a  three- 
mile  current,  and  possibly  twenty-five  feet  deep,  although 
this  is  only  a  guess.  The  Grand  River  appeared  to  be  the 
higher  of  the  two  streams,  and  had  a  decidedly  red  colour, 
as  though  a  recent  storm  was  being  carried  down  its 
gorges  ;  while  the  colour  of  the  Green  was  more  of  a  coffee 
colour  —  coffee  with  a  little  cream  in  it. 

A  fourth  of  a  mile  below  the  junction  the  two  currents 
began  to  mix,  with  a  great  ado  about  it,  with  small  whirl- 

K  129 


130  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

pools  and  swift  eddies,  and  sudden  outbursts  from  beneath, 
as  though  a  strangled  current  was  struggling  to  escape 
from  the  weight  which  overpowered  it.  The  boats  were 
twisted  this  way  and  that,  and  hard  rowing  was  neces- 
sary to  carry  us  down  to  the  steadied  current,  and  to  the 
first  rapid,  which  we  could  hear  when  yet  far  above  it. 

Soon  we  were  running  rapids  again,  and  getting  a 
lot  of  sport  out  of  it.  There  were  some  rocks,  but  there 
was  water  enough  so  that  these  could  be  avoided.  If  one 
channel  did  not  suit  us,  we  took  another,  and  although  we 
were  drenched  in  every  rapid,  and  the  cockpit  was  half 
filled  each  time,  it  was  not  cold  enough  to  cause  us  any 
great  discomfort,  and  we  bailed  out  at  the  end  of  each 
rapid,  then  hurried  on  to  tackle  the  next.  Each  of  these 
rapids  was  from  a  fourth  to  a  third  of  a  mile  in  length. 
The  average  was  at  least  one  big  rapid  to  the  mile.  When 
No.  5  was  reached  we  paused  a  little  longer,  and  looked 
it  over  more  carefully  than  we  had  the  others.  It  had 
a  short,  quick  descent,  then  a  long  line  of  white-topped 
waves,  with  a  big  whirlpool  on  the  right.  There  were 
numerous  rocks  which  would  take  careful  work  to  avoid. 
The  waves  were  big,  —  big  enough  for  a  motion  picture, 
—  so  Emery  remained  on  shore  with  both  the  motion- 
picture  camera  and  the  8  X 10  plate  camera  in  position, 
ready  to  take  the  picture,  while  I  ran  my  boat. 

At  the  head  of  this  rapid  we  saw  footprints  in  the 
sand,  but  not  made  with  the  same  shoe  as  that  which 


A  COMPANION  VOYAGER  131 

we  had  noticed  above  the  junction.  We  had  also  seen 
signs  of  a  camp,  and  some  fishes'  heads  above  this  point, 
and  what  we  took  to  be  a  dog's  track  along  the  shore. 

At  the  head  of  the  next  rapid  we  saw  them  again, 
but  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  and  could  see  where 
a  boat  had  been  pulled  up  on  the  sand.  This  next  rapid 
was  almost  as  bad  as  the  one  above  it,  but  with  a  longer 
descent,  instead  of  one  abrupt  drop.  The  following 
rapid  was  so  close  that  we  continued  along  the  shore  to 
look  it  over  at  the  same  time,  saving  a  stop  between  the 
two  rapids.  The  shores  were  strewn  with  a  litter  of 
gigantic  boulders  —  fallen  sections  of  the  overhanging 
cliffs.  We  found  more  of  this  in  Cataract  Canyon  than 
in  any  of  the  canyons  above.  This  was  partly  responsible 
for  the  violence  of  the  rapids,  although  the  descent  of 
the  river  would  make  rough  water  even  if  there  were  no 
boulders.  Working  back  along  the  shore,  we  were  sud- 
denly electrified  into  quick  action  by  seeing  the  Edith 
come  floating  down  the  river,  close  to  the  shore  and  almost 
in  the  rapid.  Emery  was  a  short  distance  ahead  and 
ran  for  the  Defiance;  I  caught  up  a  long  pole  and  got  on  a 
projecting  rock,  hoping  I  might  steer  her  in.  She  passed 
me,  and  was  soon  in  the  midst  of  the  rapid  before  Emery 
had  launched  the  boat.  Three  gigantic  boulders  extended 
above  the  water  about  fifty  feet  from  shore,  with  a  very 
crooked  channel  between.  Down  toward  these  boulders 
came  the  Edith,  plunging  like  a  thing  possessed.  How  it  was 


132  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

done  I  could  never  tell,  but  she  passed  through  the  crooked 
channel  without  once  touching,  and  continued  over  the 
rapid.  Meanwhile  Emery  had  run  the  other  side  and 
had  gained  on  the  Edith,  but  only  caught  her  when  close 
to  the  next  rapid ;  so  he  turned  her  loose  and  came  to 
the  shore  for  me. 

Emery  had  not  been  feeling  his  best  and  I  advised 
him  to  remain  on  shore  while  I  took  the  boat.  As  we 
made  the  change  we  again  observed  the  boat,  bounding 
through  the  next  rapid,  whirling  on  the  tops  of  the  waves 
as  though  in  the  hands  of  a  superhuman  juggler.  I 
managed  to  overtake  her  in  a  whirlpool  below  the  rapid, 
and  came  to  shore  for  her  captain.  He  was  nearly  ex- 
hausted with  his  efforts ;  still  he  insisted  on  continuing. 
A  few  miles  below  we  saw  some  ducks,  and  shot  at 
them  with  a  revolver.  But  the  ducks  flew  disdainfully 
away,  and  landed  in  the  pool  below. 

By  4.30  P.M.  we  were  twelve  miles  below  the  junction, 
a  very  good  day's  run  considering  the  kind  of  water  we 
were  travelling  on,  and  the  amount  of  time  we  spent  on 
the  shore.  We  had  just  run  our  twelfth  rapid,  and  were 
turning  the  boats  around,  when  we  saw  a  man  back 
from  the  shore  working  over  a  pile  of  boxes  which  he  had 
covered  with  a  piece  of  canvas.  A  boat  was  tied  to 
the  water's  edge.  We  called  to  him,  and  he  answered, 
but  did  not  seem  nearly  as  much  interested  in  seeing 
companion  travellers  as  we  were,  and  proceeded  with  his 


A  COMPANION  VOYAGER  133 

work.  We  landed,  and,  to  save  time,  introduced  our- 
selves, as  there  seemed  to  be  a  certain  aloofness  in  his 
manner.  He  gave  the  name  of  Smith  —  with  some  hesi- 
tation, we  thought. 

Smith  was  about  medium  size,  but  looked  tough  and 
wiry ;  he  had  a  sandy  complexion,  with  light  hair  and 
mustache.  He  had  lost  one  eye,  the  other  was  that 
light  gray  colour  that  is  usually  associated  with  indomi- 
table nerve.  He  had  a  shrewd,  rather  humorous  expres- 
sion, and  gave  one  the  impression  of  being  very  capable. 
Dressed  in  a  neat  whipcord  suit,  wearing  light  shoes  and 
a  carefully  tied  tie,  recently  shaved  —  a  luxury  we 
had  denied  ourselves,  all  this  time  —  he  was  certainly 
an  interesting  character  to  meet  in  this  out-of-the-way 
place.  We  should  judge  he  was  a  little  over  forty  years 
old ;  but  whether  prospector,  trapper,  or  explorer  it  was 
hard  to  say.  Some  coyote  skins,  drying  on  a  rock,  would 
give  one  the  impression  that  he  was  the  second,  with  a 
touch  of  the  latter  thrown  in.  These  coyotes  were 
responsible  for  the  tracks  we  had  seen,  and  had  mis- 
taken for  dog  tracks,  but  of  all  the  canyons  we  had 
seen  he  was  in  the  last  place  where  we  would  expect  to 
find  a  trapper.  The  coyotes  evidently  reached  the 
river  gorge  through  side  canyons  on  the  left,  where  we 
had  seen  signs  of  ancient  trails.  Apart  from  that  there 
was  no  sign  of  animal  life.  With  the  last  of  the  wooded 
canyons,  the  signs  of  beaver  had  disappeared.  There 


134  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

were  a  few  otter  tracks,  but  they  are  wily  fellows,  and 
are  seldom  trapped.  While  there  are  laws  against 
the  trapping  of  beaver,  they  seldom  prevent  the  trappers 
from  taking  them  when  they  get  the  chance ;  they  are 
only  a  little  more  wary  of  strangers  ;  the  thought  occurred 
to  us  that  this  trapper  may  have  secured  some  beaver  in 
the  open  sections  above,  and  mistrusted  us  for  this 
reason. 

It  was  too  late  to  go  any  farther  that  evening,  so  we 
camped  a  hundred  yards  below  him,  close  to  where  our 
boats  were  pulled  out.  At  this  place  there  was  a  long, 
wide  flat  in  the  canyon,  with  plenty  of  driftwood,  so  we 
saw  no  reason  why  we  should  quarrel  with  our  neighbour. 
Smith  accepted  our  invitation  to  supper,  stating  that  he 
had  just  eaten  before  we  arrived,  but  enjoyed  some  pine- 
apple which  we  had  kept  for  some  special  occasion,  and 
which  was  served  for  dessert. 

Over  the  table  we  became  better  acquainted,  and, 
after  learning  what  we  were  doing,  he  recounted  his  experi- 
ences. He  told  us  he  had  left  Green  River,  Utah,  a  month 
before,  and  had  been  trapping  as  he  came  along.  He 
knew  there  was  a  canyon,  and  some  rapids  below,  but 
had  no  idea  they  were  so  bad,  and  thought  they  were 
about  ended.  No  one  had  warned  him,  for  he  had  told 
no  one  what  he  intended  doing.  He  had  bought  an  old 
water-logged  boat  that  had  been  built  by  Galloway,  and 
seeing  the  uselessness  of  trying  to  run  the  rapids  with  it, 


Copyright  by  Kolb  Bros. 


LOOKING   WEST   INTO   CATARACT  CANYON. 


CHARLES   SMITH   AND   HIS   BOAT. 


A  COMPANION  VOYAGER  135 

had  worked  it  down  along  the  shores  by  holding  it  with 
a  light  chain.  Once  he  had  been  pulled  into  the  river, 
twice  the  boat  had  been  upset,  and  he  was  just  about 
dried  out  from  the  last  spill  when  we  arrived.  He  had 
heard  us  shooting  at  the  ducks,  so  rather  expected  com- 
pany —  this  in  brief  was  his  amazing  story. 

We  were  surprised  when  we  examined  the  boat  closely. 
It  had  been  well  made,  but  was  so  old  and  rotten  that  it 
seemed  ready  to  fall  to  pieces.  In  places,  the  nail  heads 
had  pulled  through  the  boards.  It  was  entirely  open 
on  top  —  a  great  risk  in  such  water.  His  boxes  were  tied 
in  to  prevent  loss.  These  boxes  were  now  piled  on  the 
shore,  with  a  large  canvas  thrown  over  them.  This 
canvas,  fastened  at  the  top  and  sloping  to  the  ground, 
served  him  for  a  tent ;  his  bed  was  underneath.  A  pair 
of  high-topped  boots,  placed  bottom  up  over  two  sticks, 
stuck  in  the  sand  beside  the  camp-fire,  explained  the  dif- 
ferent tracks  we  had  seen  above. 

Smith  evidently  was  not  much  alarmed  over  his 
situation.  About  the  only  thing  that  seemed  to  bother 
him  was  the  fact  that  his  smoking  tobacco  had  been  wet 
several  times.  That  evening  we  got  out  our  guide-book 
-  Dellenbaugh's  "  A  Canyon  Voyage  " — and  tried  to 
give  him  an  idea  of  what  was  ahead.  The  walls  ahead 
grew  higher,  and  closer  together ;  sometimes  there  was  a 
shore  on  one  side,  sometimes  on  the  other,  at  one  or  two 
places  there  was  no  shore  on  either  side,  and  the  rapids 


136  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

continued  to  get  worse,  —  so  we  gathered  from  Dellen- 
baugh's  experience.  Above  this  point  there  were  several 
places  where  one  could  climb  out,  —  we  had  even  seen 
signs  of  ancient  trails  in  two  side  canyons,  —  below  here 
few  such  places  existed. 

Smith  listened  to  all  this  attentively,  then  smiled 
and  said  "I  guess  there  will  be  some  way  through." 
After  a  short  visit  he  returned  to  his  camp.  We  noticed 
that  he  slept  on  his  gun,  —  to  keep  it  dry,  no  doubt,  for 
it  looked  like  rain. 

Morning  found  us  very  sorry  that  we  had  not  erected 
our  tent,  for  it  rained  nearly  all  night,  but  when  once  in 
our  beds  it  wras  a  question  which  was  preferable ;  to  get 
out  in  the  rain  and  put  up  our  tent,  or  remain  in  our 
comfortable  beds.  We  remained  where  we  were.  As  we 
prepared  to  leave,  we  offered  Smith  a  chance  to  accom- 
pany us  through  Cataract  Canyon,  telling  him  that  we 
would  help  him  with  his  boat  until  the  quiet  water  of 
Glen  Canyon  was  reached.  He  declined  the  opportunity, 
saying  that  he  would  rather  travel  slowly  and  do  what 
trapping  he  could.  He  welcomed  a  chance  to  take  a 
ride  on  the  Defiance,  however.  We  took  him  over  two 
small  rapids,  and  gave  him  an  insight  into  our  method 
of  avoiding  the  dangers.  He  was  very  enthusiastic  about 
it.  On  reaching  the  next  rapid  we  all  concluded  it  would 
be  very  unwise  to  carry  any  passengers,  for  it  was  violent 
water,  so  he  got  out  on  the  shore. 


A  COMPANION  VOYAGER  137 

Smith  had  once  seen  some  moving  pictures  of  Japanese 
shooting  rapids,  but  he  said  they  were  nothing  compared 
to  these,  remarking  that  a  bronco  could  hardly  buck  any 
harder.  The  next  rapid  was  just  as  bad,  Rapid  No.  14 
for  Cataract  Canyon,  and  Smith  helped  us  secure  a  mo- 
tion picture.  Then  he  prepared  to  return  to  his  camp. 
Just  before  leaving  he  explained  rather  apologetically, 
that  ranchers,  or  others,  were  usually  very  unfriendly  to 
a  stranger  coming  into  their  section  of  the  country. 
He  had  heard  us  shooting  at  the  ducks  and  he  imagined 
we  belonged  in  some  of  the  side  canyons  or  on  the  top. 
This  explained  his  puzzling  attitude  at  our  first  meeting. 
If  he  had  any  beaver  skins  in  his  pack  this  would  make 
him  even  more  suspicious  of  strangers.  We  wished  him 
nothing  but  the  best  of  luck,  and  were  good  friends  when 
we  parted.  His  decision  to  make  the  trip  alone,  poorly 
equipped  as  he  was,  seemed  like  suicide  to  us.  He  prom- 
ised to  write  to  us  if  he  got  out,  and  with  a  final  wave 
of  the  hand  we  left  him  on  the  shore. 

The  rapid  just  passed  was  possibly  the  scene  of  the 
disaster  discovered  by  the  Stone  expedition.  They 
found  a  clumsy  boat  close  to  the  shore,  jammed  in  a 
mass  of  rocks,  smashed  and  abandoned.  There  were 
tracks  of  three  people  in  the  sand,  one  track  being  a 
boy's.  A  coat  was  left  on  the  shore.  The  tracks  disap- 
peared up  a  box  canyon.  Mr.  Stone  corresponded  with 
the  only  settlements  in  all  that  region,  few  in  number, 


138  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

and  far  distant ;  but  nothing  was  ever  heard  of  them. 
Two  other  parties  have  left  Green  River,  Utah,  within 
a  year  of  this  find  and  disappeared  in  like  manner.  This 
seemed  to  be  the  usual  result  of  these  attempts.  In 
nearly  every  case  they  have  started  in  boats  that  are 
entirely  unfitted  for  rough  water,  and,  seemingly  without 
any  knowledge  of  the  real  danger  ahead,  try  to  follow 
where  others,  properly  equipped,  have  gone  through. 

What  a  day  of  excitement  that  was  !  We  always 
thought  we  needed  a  certain  amount  of  thrills  to  make 
life  sufficiently  interesting  for  us.  In  a  few  hours'  time, 
in  the  central  portion  of  Cataract  Canyon,  we  experi- 
enced nearly  enough  thrills  to  last  us  a  lifetime.  In 
one  or  two  of  the  upper  canyons  we  thought  we  were 
running  rapids.  Now  we  were  learning  what  rapids 
really  were.  No  sooner  were  we  through  one  than  another 
presented  itself.  At  each  of  them  we  climbed  along 
the  boulder-strewn  shores  —  the  lower  slopes  growing 
steeper,  the  walls  above  towering  higher  —  clear  to  the 
end  of  the  rapid.  Looking  upstream  we  could  pick 
out  the  submerged  rocks  hidden  in  the  muddy  water, 
and  looking  like  an  innocent  wave  from  above.  Twice 
we  had  picked  out  channels  in  sharp  drops,  after  care- 
fully observing  their  actions  and  deciding  they  were 
free  from  obstructions,  when  suddenly  the  waves  would 
part  for  an  instant  and  disclose  a  hidden  rock  —  in  one 
case  as  sharp  as  a  hound's  tooth  —  sure  disaster  if  we  ever 


A  COMPANION  VOYAGER  139 

struck  it.  As  soon  as  we  had  decided  on  a  channel  we 
would  lose  no  time  in  getting  back  to  our  boats  and  run- 
ning it,  for  we  could  feel  our  courage  oozing  from  our 
finger  tips  with  each  second's  delay.  Time  and  again 
we  got  through  just  by  a  scratch.  Success  bred  confi- 
dence; I  distinctly  remember  feeling  that  water  alone 
would  not  upset  the  boat ;  that  it  would  take  a  collision 
with  a  rock  to  do  it.  And  each  time  we  got  through. 
Twice  I  almost  had  reason  to  reverse  my  impression  of 
the  power  of  water.  First  the  stern  rose  up  in  front  of 
me,  as  if  squaring  off  at  the  tops  of  the  cliffs,  then  de- 
scended, until  it  seemed  to  be  trying  to  plumb  the  depths 
of  the  river.  The  waves,  rolling  over  me,  almost  knocked 
me  out  of  the  boat,  I  lost  my  hold  on  the  oars  and  grabbed 
the  sides  of  the  boat ;  then,  regaining  the  oars,  I  finished 
the  run  by  pulling  with  the  bow  headed  downstream, 
for  the  boat  had  "swapped  ends"  in  the  interval,  and 
was  heavy  with  about  three  barrels  of  water  in  the  cock- 
pit. I  bailed  out  with  a  grocery  box,  kept  under  the  seat 
for  that  purpose.  It  had  been  growing  quite  cold,  and 
Emery's  indisposition  —  or  what  was  really  acute  indi- 
gestion —  had  weakened  him  for  the  past  two  days,  but 
he  pluckily  declined  to  stop.  I  was  soaked  with  my  last 
immersion  and  chilled  with  the  wind,  so  concluded  there 
was  no  use  having  him  go  through  the  same  experience 
and  I  ran  his  boat  while  he  made  a  picture.  We  were 
both  ready  to  camp  then,  but  there  was  no  suitable  place 


140  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

and  we  had  to  push  on  to  the  next  rapid.  On  looking 
it  over  we  almost  gave  up  our  intention  of  running  it. 
It  was  about  a  fourth  of  a  mile  long ;  a  mass  of  submerged 
rocks  extended  entirely  across  the  river;  the  entire 
rapid  seemed  impossible.  We  finally  concluded  it  might 
be  run  by  shooting  up,  stern  first,  on  a  sloping  rock  near 
the  shore,  then  return  as  the  current  recoiled  and  ran 
back,  dividing  on  either  side  of  the  rock.  The  only 
clear  channel  was  one  about  twelve  feet  wide,  between 
this  rock  and  the  shore.  A  projecting  shore  above  pre- 
vented a  direct  entrance  to  this  channel. 

We  threw  logs  in  and  watched  their  action.  In  each 
case  they  paused  when  within  five  or  six  feet  of  the  top 
of  the  slope,  then  returned  with  the  current,  whirled 
back  to  the  side  and  shot  through  close  to  the  shore. 
We  planned  to  go  through  as  close  together  as  possible. 
Emery  was  ready  first,  I  held  back  in  a  protecting  pool, 
waiting  for  him  to  get  out  of  the  way.  He  got  his  posi- 
tion, facing  stern  downstream,  gave  the  slightest  shove 
forward,  and  the  released  boat  whizzed  down  for  fifty 
feet  and  ran  up  on  the  rock.  She  paused  a  moment,  as 
the  water  prepared  to  return.  He  gave  two  quick  pulls, 
shooting  back  again,  slightly  to  the  right,  until  he  struck 
the  narrow  channel,  then  reversed  his  course  and  went 
through  stern  first  exactly  as  we  had  planned  it.  The 
square  stern,  buoyed  up  by  the  air-chamber,  lifted  the 
boat  out  of  the  resulting  wave  as  he  struck  the  bottom  of 


A  COMPANION  VOYAGER  141 

the  descent.  This  much  of  the  rapid  had  only  taken  a 
few  seconds. 

I  followed  at  once,  but  was  not  so  fortunate.  The 
Defiance  was  carried  to  the  left  side,  where  some  water 
dropped  over  the  side  of  the  rock,  instead  of  reversing. 
I  pulled  frantically,  seeing  visions,  meanwhile,  of  the 
boat  and  myself  being  toppled  off  the  side  of  the  rock, 
into  the  boulders  and  waves  below.  My  rowing  had  no 
effect  whatever,  but  the  boat  was  grabbed  by  the  return- 
ing wave  and  shot,  as  if  from  a  catapult,  back  and 
around  to  the  right,  through  the  sloping  narrow  channel, 
—  my  returning  course  describing  a  half  circle.  Instead 
of  rising,  the  pointed  bow  cut  down  into  the  waves  until 
the  water  was  on  my  shoulders.  Emery  turned  his 
head  for  an  instant  to  see  what  success  I  was  having,  and 
his  boat  was  thrown  on  to  a  rock  close  to  the  shore.  I 
passed  him  and  landed,  just  before  going  into  the  next 
rapid.  I  then  went  back  and  helped  him  off  the  rock, 
and  he  continued  his  course  over  the  leaping  waves.  He 
broke  a  rowlock  before  he  landed,  and  had  to  use  the 
substitute  we  had  hung  beside  it. 

We  found  a  good  spot  for  a  camp  just  above  the 
next  rapid.  Our  tent  was  stretched  in  front  of  a  large 
boulder.  A  large  pile  of  driftwood  gave  us  all  the  fuel 
needed,  and  we  soon  had  a  big  fire  going  and  our  wet 
clothes  steaming  on  the  line. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  PATIENT  AMID  THE  CATARACTS 

AN  hour  or  so  after  making  our  camp,  we  began  to 
doubt  the  wisdom  of  our  choice  of  a  location,  for  a  down- 
pour of  rain  threatened  to  send  a  stream  of  water  under 
the  tent.  The  stream  was  easily  turned  aside,  while  a 
door  and  numerous  boards  found  in  the  drift  pile,  made 
a  very  good  floor  for  the  tent  and  lifted  our  sleeping 
bags  off  the  wet  sand.  We  had  little  trouble  in  this  sec- 
tion to  find  sufficient  driftwood  for  fires.  The  pile  at 
this  camp  was  enormous,  and  had  evidently  been  gather- 
ing for  years.  Some  of  it,  we  could  be  sure,  was  recent, 
for  a  large  pumpkin  was  found  deposited  in  the  drift 
pile  twenty-five  feet  above  the  low-water  stage  on  which 
we  were  travelling.  This  pumpkin,  of  course,  could  only 
have  come  down  on  the  flood  that  had  preceded  us 

What  a  mixture  of  curios  some  of  those  drift  piles 
were,  and  what  a  great  stretch  of  country  they  repre- 
sented !  The  rivers,  unsatisfied  with  washing  away  the 
fertile  soil  of  the  upper  country,  had  levied  a  greedy  toll 

on  the  homes  along  their  banks,  as  well.     Almost  every- 

142 


A  PATIENT  AMID  THE  CATARACTS  143 

thing  that  would  float,  belonging  to  a  home,  could  be 
found  in  some  of  them.  There  were  pieces  of  furniture 
and  toilet  articles,  children's  toys  and  harness,  several 
smashed  boats  had  been  seen,  and  bloated  cattle  as  well. 
A  short  distance  above  this  camp  we  had  found  two  cans 
of  white  paint,  carefully  placed  on  top  of  a  big  rock  above 
the  high-water  mark,  by  some  previous  voyager.1  The 
boats  were  beginning  to  show  the  effect  of  hard  usage, 
so  we  concluded  to  take  the  paint  along.  At  another 
point,  this  same  day,  we  found  a  corked  bottle  containing 
a  faded  note,  undated,  requesting  the  finder  to  write  to 
a  certain  lady  in  Delta,  Colorado.  A  note  in  my  journal, 
beneath  a  record  of  this  find,  reads  :  "Aha  !  A  romance 
at  last !"  Judging  by  the  appearance  of  the  note  it 
might  have  been  thrown  in  many  years  before.  Delta, 
we  knew,  was  on  the  Gunnison  River,  a  tributary  of  the 
Grand  River.  The  bottle  must  have  travelled  over  two 
hundred  miles  to  reach  this  spot. 

A  letter  which  I  sent  out  later  brought  a  prompt 
answer,  with  the  information  that  this  bottle  and  four 
others  with  similar  notes  were  set  adrift  by  the  writer 
and  four  of  her  schoolmates,  nearly  two  years  before. 
An  agreement  was  made  that  the  one  first  receiving  an 
answer  was  to  treat  the  others  to  a  dinner.  Our  find 
was  the  second,  so  this  young  lady  was  a  guest  instead 
of  the  host. 

1  Left  by  the  Stone  expedition.  ] 


144  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

Emery  took  but  little  interest  in  our  camp  arrange- 
ments this  evening,  and  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  it  was 
possible  for  him  to  do  so.  He  said  little,  but  he  was 
very  weak,  and  I  could  tell  from  his  drawn  face  that  he 
was  suffering,  and  knew  that  it  was  nothing  but  nervous 
energy  that  kept  him  at  his  work  —  that,  and  a  promise 
which  he  Jiad  made  to  build  a  fire,  within  a  stated  time 
now  less  than  two  weeks  away,  in  Bright  Angel  Creek 
Canyon,  nearly  three  hundred  miles  below  this  camp, 
a  signal  to  his  wife  and  baby  that  he  would  be  home 
the  next  day.  I  was  worried  about  his  condition  and  I 
feared  a  fever  or  pneumonia.  For  two  or  three  days  he 
had  not  been  himself.  It  was  one  thing  to  battle  with 
the  river  when  well  and  strong ;  it  would  be  decidedly 
different  if  one  of  us  became  seriously  ill. 

For  the  first  time  in  all  our  experiences  together, 
where  determination  and  skill  seemed  necessary  to 
success,  I  had  taken  the  lead  during  the  past  two 
days,  feeling  that  my  greater  weight  and  strength, 
perhaps,  would  help  me  pull  out  of  danger  where 
he  might  fail.  In  two  or  three  rapids  I  felt  sure 
he  did  not  have  the  strength  to  pull  away  from  certain 
places  that  would  smash  the  boats.  After  running  the 
Defiance  through  these  rapids  I  suggested  to  him  that 
he  would  take  a  picture  while  I  brought  the  Edith  down. 
He  would  stay  near  the  Defiance,  ready  to  aid  in  case  of 
emergency.  After  being  once  through  a  rapid  I  found  it 
quite  a  simple  matter  to  run  the  second  boat,  and  the 


A  PATIENT  AMID  THE  CATARACTS  145 

knowledge  that  he  would  save  me  in  case  of  an  upset 
greatly  lessened  any  danger  that  might  have  existed. 
He  was  too  nervous  to  sleep,  and  asked  me  to  take 
a  last  look  at  the  boats  before  going  to  bed.  They 
were  pulled  well  up  on  the  shore  and  securely  tied,  I 
found,  so  that  it  would  take  a  flood  to  tear  them  loose. 
The  rain,  which  had  stopped  for  a  while,  began  again  as 
I  rolled  into  the  blankets ;  the  fire,  fed  with  great  cotton- 
wood  logs,  threw  ghostly  shadows  on  the  cliffs  which 
towered  above  us,  and  sputtered  in  the  rain  but  refused 
to  be  drowned ;  while  the  roar  of  rapids,  Nos.  22  and 
23  combined,  thundered  and  reverberated  from  wall  to 
wall,  and  finally  lulled  us  to  sleep. 

The  rain  continued  all  night,  but  the  weather  cleared 
in  the  morning.  Emery  felt  much  the  same  as  he  had 
the  day  before,  so  we  kept  the  same  camp  that  day.  We 
took  some  pictures,  and  made  a  few  test  developments, 
hanging  the  dark-room,  or  tent,  inside  the  other  tent  for 
want  of  a  better  place  to  tie  to. 

Sunday,  October  the  29th,  we  remained  at  the  same 
place,  and  by  evening  were  both  greatly  benefited  by 
the  rest.  On  Monday  morning  we  packed  up  again, 
leaving  only  the  moving-picture  camera  out,  and  pic- 
tured each  other,  alternately,  as  the  boats  made  the 
plunge  over  the  steep  descent  in  rapid  No.  23.  Both 
boats  disappeared  from  sight  on  two  or  three  occasions 
in  this  rapid  and  emerged  nearly  filled  with  water. 


146  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

The  section  just  passed  is  credited  with  the  greatest 
descent  on  the  rivers,  a  fall  of  75  feet  in  J  of  a  mile. 
This  includes  the  three  rapids  :  Nos.  21,  22,  and  23. 

Proceeding  on  our  way  the  canyon  narrowed,  going 
up  almost  sheer  to  a  height  of  2500  feet  or  over.  Segre- 
gated spires,  with  castle-like  tops,  stood  out  from  the 
upper  walls.  The  rapids,  or  cataracts,  compared  well 
with  those  passed  above,  connected  in  some  instances 
by  swift-rushing  water  instead  of  the  quiet  pools  which 
were  usually  found  between  the  rapids.  We  ran  ten 
rapids  this  day,  but  several  of  these  which  were  counted 
as  one  were  a  series  of  two  or  three  rapids,  which  might 
be  one  in  high  water.  All  had  a  shore  on  one  side  or  the 
other,  but  caution  was  imperative  when  crossing  in  the 
swift  water  between  the  rapids.  A  mishap  here  meant 
destruction.  We  figured  that  we  had  travelled  about 
ten  miles  for  this  day's  run. 

The  menacing  walls  continued  to  go  higher  with  the 
next  day's  travel,  until  they  reached  a  height  of  2700 
feet.  The  left  wall  was  so  sheer  that  it  almost 
seemed  to  overhang.  The  little  vegetation  which  we 
had  found  on  the  lower  slope  gradually  disappeared  as 
the  walls  grew  steeper,  but  a  few  scattered  shrubs,  sage- 
brush, and  an  occasional  juniper  grew  on  the  rocky  sides, 
or  in  one  or  two  side  canyons  which  entered  from  the 
south.  These  side  canyons  had  the  appearance  of  run- 
ning back  for  considerable  distances,  but  we  did  not  ex- 


A  PATIENT  AMID  THE  CATARACTS  147 

plore  any  of  them  and  could  tell  very  little  about  them 
from  the  river. 

After  our  noon  lunch  this  day,  in  order  to  keep  our 
minds  from  dwelling  too  much  on  the  rather  depressing 
surroundings,  we  proposed  having  a  little  sport.  On  two 
or  three  occasions  we  had  made  motion  pictures  from  the 
deck  of  the  boats  as  we  rowed  in  the  quiet  water ;  here 
we  proposed  taking  a  picture  from  the  boats  as  we  went 
over  the  rapids.  The  two  boats  were  fastened  stern 
to  stern,  so  that  the  rowing  would  be  done  from  the  first 
boat.  My  brother  sat  on  the  bow  behind  with  the 
motion-picture  camera  in  front  of  him,  holding  it  down 
with  his  chin,  his  legs  clinging  to  the  sides  of  the  boat, 
with  his  left  hand  clutching  at  the  hatch  cover,  and  with 
his  right  hand  free  to  turn  the  crank.  In  this  way  we 
passed  over  two  small  rapids.  After  that  one  experience 
we  never  tried  it  in  a  large  rapid.  As  Smith  had  said  a 
few  days  before  the  boat  bucked  like  a  broncho,  and 
Emery  had  a  great  deal  of  difficulty  to  stay  with  the 
boat,  to  say  nothing  of  taking  a  picture.  Once  or  twice 
he  was  nearly  unseated  but  pluckily  hung  on  and  kept 
turning  away  at  the  crank  when  it  looked  as  if  he  and 
the  camera  would  be  dumped  into  the  river. 

At  one  point  in  the  lower  end  of  Cataract  Canyon  we 
saw  the  name  and  date  A.  G.  Turner,  '07.  Below  this, 
close  to  the  end  of  the  canyon,  were  some  ruins  of  cliff 
dwellings,  and  a  ladder  made  by  white  men,  placed 
against  the  walls  below  the  ruins. 


148   THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

On  reaching  a  very  deep,  narrow  canyon  entering 
from  the  south,  locally  known  as  Dark  Canyon,  we  knew 
that  we  were  nearing  the  end  of  the  rapids  in  Cataract 
Canyon.  Dark  Canyon  extends  a  great  distance  back 
into  the  country,  heading  in  the  mountains  we  had  seen 
to  the  south,  when  we  climbed  out  at  the  junction  of 
the  Green  and  the  Grand.  Pine  cones  and  other  growths 
entirely  foreign  to  the  growth  of  the  desert  region  were 
found  near  its  mouth.  A  flood  had  recently  filled  the 
bottom  of  this  narrow  canyon  to  a  depth  of  several 
feet,  but  the  water  had  settled  down  again  and  left  a 
little  stream  of  clear  water  running  through  the  boul- 
ders. The  rapid  at  the  end  of  this  canyon  was  one 
of  the  worst  of  the  entire  series,  and  had  been  the 
scene  of  more  than  one  fatality,  wre  had  been  told.  It 
had  a  very  difficult  approach  and  swung  against  the 
right  wall,  then  the  water  was  turned  abruptly  to  the 
left  by  a  great  pile  of  fallen  boulders.  The  cresting 
waves  looked  more  like  breakers  of  the  ocean  than 
anything  we  had  seen  on  the  river. 

We  each  had  a  good  scare  as  we  ran  this  rapid. 
Emery  was  completely  hidden  from  my  view,  he  was 
nearly  strangled  and  blinded  by  the  waves  for  a  few 
seconds  while  struggling  in  the  maelstrom ;  the  Edith 
was  dropped  directly  on  top  of  a  rock  in  the  middle 
of  this  rapid,  then  lifted  on  the  next  wave.  I  also 
had  a  thrilling  experience  but  avoided  the  rock.  In 


A  PATIENT  AMID  THE  CATARACTS  149 

the  lower  part  of  the  rapid  a  rowlock  pulled  apart; 
and  to  prevent  the  boat  from  turning  sideways  in  the 
rapid,  I  threw  up  my  knee,  holding  the  oar  against  it 
for  a  lever  until  I  was  in  quieter  water,  and  could  get 
the  other  rowlock  in  position. 

Separated  from  my  brother  in  this  instance,  I  had 
an  opportunity  to  see  the  man  and  water  conflict,  with  a 
perspective  much  as  it  would  have  appeared  to  a  spec- 
tator happening  on  the  scene.  I  was  out  of  the  heat  of 
the  battle.  The  excitement  and  indifference  to  danger 
that  comes  with  a  hand-to-hand  grapple  was  gone.  I 
heard  the  roar  of  the  rapid ;  a  roar  so  often  heard  that 
we  forgot  it  was  there.  I  saw  the  gloom  of  the  great 
gorge,  and  the  towering,  sinister  shafts  of  rock,  weakened 
with  cracks,  waiting  for  the  moment  that  would  send 
them  crashing  to  the  bottom.  I  saw  the  mad,  wild  water 
hurled  at  the  curving  wall.  Jagged  rocks,  like  the 
bared  fangs  of  some  dream-monster,  appeared  now  and 
then  in  the  leaping,  tumbling  waves.  Then  down 
toward  the  turmoil  —  dwarfed  to  nothingness  by  the 
magnitude  of  the  walls  —  sped  the  tiny  shell-like  boat, 
running  smoothly  like  a  racing  machine  !  There  was 
no  rowing.  The  oar-blades  were  tipped  high  to  avoid 
loss  in  the  first  comber;  then  the  boat  was  buried  in 
the  foam,  and  staggered  through  on  the  other  side.  It 
was  buffeted  here  and  there,  now  covered  with  a  ton  of 
water,  now  topping  a  ten-foot  wave.  Like  a  skilled 


150  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

boxer  —  quick  of  eye,  and  ready  to  seize  any  temporary 
advantage  —  the  oarsman  shot  in  his  oars  for  two  quick 
strokes,  to  straighten  the  boat  with  the  current  or  dodge 
a  threatening  boulder ;  then  covered  by  lifting  his  oars 
and  ducking  his  head  as  a  brown  flood  rolled  over  him. 
Time  and  again  the  manoeuvre  was  repeated  :  now  here, 
now  there.  One  would  think  the  chances  were  about 
one  to  a  hundred  that  he  would  get  through.  But  by 
some  sort  of  a  system,  undoubtedly  aided,  many  times,  by 
good  luck,  the  man  and  his  boat  won  to  land. 

After  running  a  small  rapid,  we  came  to  another,  in 
the  centre  of  which  was  an  island,  —  the  last  rapid  in 
Cataract  Canyon.  While  not  as  bad  as  the  one 
at  Dark  Canyon  it  was  rather  difficult,  and  at 
this  point  we  found  no  shore  on  either  side.  The 
south  side  was  rendered  impassable  by  great  boulders, 
much  higher  than  the  river  level,  which  were  scattered 
through  the  channel.  The  opposite  channel  began  much 
like  the  rapid  at  Dark  Canyon,  sweeping  under  the  wall 
until  turned  by  a  bend  and  many  fallen  rocks  below  the 
end  of  the  island,  then  crossed  with  a  line  of  cresting 
waves  to  the  opposite  side,  where  it  was  joined  by  the 
other  stream,  and  the  left  wall  was  swept  clean  in  like 
manner.  We  ran  it  by  letting  our  boats  drop  into  the 
stream,  but  pulled  away  from  the  wall  and  kept  close  to 
the  island,  then  when  its  end  was  reached  crossed  the 
ridge  of  waves  and  pulled  for  the  right-hand  shore.  In 


A  PATIENT  AMID  THE  CATARACTS  151 

such  rapids  as  this  we  often  found  the  line  of  waves  in 
the  swift-rushing  centre  to  be  several  feet  higher  than  the 
water  along  the  shore. 

Then  our  thoughts  reverted  to  Smith.  What  would 
he  do  when  he  came  to  this  rapid  ?  The  only  escape  was 
a  narrow  sloping  ledge  on  the  right  side,  beginning  close 
to  the  water  some  distance  above  the  rapid,  reaching  a 
height  of  sixty  or  seventy  feet  above  the  water  at  the 
lower  end,  while  a  descent  could  be  made  to  the  river 
some  distance  below  here.  It  would  be  possible  for  him  to 
climb  over  this  with  his  provisions,  but  the  idea  of  taking 
his  boat  up  there  was  entirely  out  of  the  question,  and, 
poorly  equipped  as  he  was,  an  attempt  to  run  it  would 
surely  end  in  disaster.  The  breaking  of  an  oar,  the  loss 
of  a  rowlock,  or  the  slightest  knock  of  his  rotten  boat 
against  a  rock,  and  Smith's  fate  would  be  similar  to  those 
others  whose  bones  lay  buried  in  the  sands. 

In  the  next  four  miles  we  had  no  more  rapids,  but  had 
some  fine  travelling  on  a  very  swift  river.  It  was  getting 
dusk,  but  we  pulled  away,  for  just  ahead  of  us  was  the 
end  of  Cataract  Canyon.  We  camped  by  a  large  side 
canyon  on  the  left  named  Mille  Crag  Bend,  with  a  great 
number  of  jagged  pinnacles  gathered  in  a  group  at  the 
top  of  the  walls,  which  had  dropped  down  to  a  height  of 
about  1300  feet.  We  felt  just  a  little  proud  of  our  achieve- 
ment, and  believed  we  had  established  a  record  for  Cata- 
ract Canyon,  having  run  all  rapids  in  four  days'  travelling, 
and  come  through  in  safety. 


152   THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

We  had  one  rapid  to  run  the  next  morning  at  the 
beginning  of  Narrow  Canyon,  the  only  rapid  in  this  nine- 
mile  long  canyon.  The  walls  here  at  the  beginning  were 
twelve  or  thirteen  hundred  feet  high,  and  tapered  to  the 
end,  where  they  rise  about  four  hundred  feet  above  the 
Dirty  Devil  River.  Narrow  Canyon  contains  the  longest 
straight  stretch  of  river  which  we  remembered  having 
seen.  When  five  miles  from  its  mouth  we  could  look 
through  and  see  the  snow-capped  peak  of  Mt.  Ellsworth 
beyond.  This  peak  is  one  of  the  five  that  composes  the 
Henry  Mountains,  which  lay  to  the  north  of  the  river. 

Three  hours'  rowing  brought  us  to  the  end.  We 
paused  a  few  minutes  to  make  a  picture  or  two  of  the 
Dirty  Devil  River,  —  or  the  Fremont  River  as  it  is  now 
recorded  on  the  maps.  This  stream,  flowing  from  the 
north,  was  the  exact  opposite  of  the  Bright  Angel  Creek, 
that  beautiful  stream  we  knew  so  well,  two  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  below  this  point.  The  Dirty  Devil  was  muddy 
and  alkaline,  while  warm  springs  containing  sulphur  and 
other  minerals  added  to  its  unpalatable  taste.  After 
tasting  it  we  could  well  understand  the  feeling  of  the 
Jack  Sumner,  whose  remark,  after  a  similar  trial,  suggested 
its  name  to  Major  Powell. 

A  short  distance  below  this  we  saw  a  tent,  and  found 
it  occupied  by  an  old-timer  named  Kimball.  Among 
other  things  he  told  us  that  he  had  a  partner,  named 
Burner,  who  had  made  the  trip  through  the  canyons 


Copyright  by  Kolb  Bros. 
LOWER   CATARACT  CANYON.    BOATS  TANDEM. 


'^:&mLim 

BEGINNING  OF  A   NATURAL   BRIDGE.     GLEN    ( 


A  PATIENT  AMID  THE  CATARACTS  153 

above,  and  arrived  at  this  point  in  safety.  This  was  the 
man  whose  name  we  had  seen  on  the  walls  in  Cataract 
Canyon.  Less  than  two  miles  more  brought  us  to  the 
Kite  ranch,  and  post-office.  John  Hite  gave  us  a  cordial 
reception.  He  had  known  of  our  coming  from  the  news- 
papers ;  besides,  he  had  some  mail  for  us.  We  spent  the 
balance  of  the  day  in  writing  letters,  and  listening  to 
Hite's  interesting  experiences  of  his  many  years  of  resi- 
dence in  this  secluded  spot.  Hite's  home  had  been  a 
haven  for  the  sole  survivor  of  two  expeditions  which  had 
met  with  disaster  in  Cataract.  In  each  case  they  were 
on  the  verge  of  starvation.  Hite  kept  a  record  of  all 
known  parties  who  had  attempted  the  passage  through 
the  canyons  above.  Less  than  half  of  these  parties, 
excepting  Galloway's  several  successful  trips,  succeeded 
in  getting  through  Cataract  Canyon  without  wrecking 
boats  or  losing  lives. 

After  passing  the  Fremont  River  the  walls  on  the 
right  or  north  side  dropped  down,  leaving  low,  barren 
sandstone  hills  rolling  away  from  the  river,  with  a  fringe 
of  willows  and  shrubs  beside  the  water,  and  with  the 
usual  sage-brush,  prickly  pear,  cactus  and  bunch- 
grass  on  the  higher  ground.  We  had  seen  one  broken- 
down  log  cabin,  but  this  ranch  was  the  only  extensive 
piece  of  ground  that  was  cultivated.  Judging  by  the 
size  of  his  stacks  of  alfalfa,  Hite  had  evidently  had 
a  good  season.  The  banks  of  the  south  side  of  the 


154  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANTON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

river  were  about  two  hundred  feet  high,  composed  of 
a  conglomerate  mass  of  clay  and  gravel.  This  spot 
has  long  been  a  ferry  crossing,  known  far  and  wide 
as  Dandy  Crossing,  the  only  outlet  across  the  river 
for  the  towns  of  southeastern  Utah,  along  the  San  Juan 
River.  The  entire  150  miles  of  Glen  Canyon  had  once 
been  the  scene  of  extensive  placer  operations.  The  boom 
finally  died,  a  few  claims  only  proving  profitable. 

One  of  these  claims  was  held  by  Bert  Loper,  one  of 
the  three  miners  who  had  gone  down  the  river  in  1908. 
Loper  never  finished,  as  his  boat  —  a  steel  boat,  by  the 
way  —  was  punctured  in  a  rapid  above  Dark  Canyon 
but  was  soon  repaired.  His  cameras  and  plates  being 
lost,  he  sent  from  Hite  out  for  new  ones.  His  com- 
panions—  Chas.  Russell,  and  E.  R.  Monette — were 
to  wait  for  him  at  Lee's  Ferry,  after  having  pros- 
pected through  Glen  Canyon.  Some  mistake  was  made 
about  the  delivery  of  the  cameras  and,  as  Hite  post- 
office  only  had  weekly  communication  with  the  railroad, 
a  month  elapsed  before  he  finally  secured  them.  Lee's 
Ferry  had  been  discontinued  as  a  post-office  at  that  time, 
and,  although  he  tried  to  get  a  letter  in  to  them,  it  was 
never  delivered.  His  disappointment  can  be  imagined 
better  than  described,  when  he  reached  Lee's  Ferry  and 
found  his  companions  had  left  just  a  few  days  previous. 
They  naturally  thought  if  he  were  coming  at  all  he  would 
have  been  there  long  before  that,  and  they  gave  him  up, 


A  PATIENT  AMID  THE  CATARACTS  155 

not  knowing  the  cause  of  the  delay.  They  left  a  letter, 
however,  saying  they  would  only  go  to  the  Bright  Angel 
Trail,  and  the  trip  could  be  completed  together  on  the 
following  year. 

Loper  spent  many  hard  days  working  his  boat,  with 
his  load  of  provisions,  back  against  the  current,  and 
located  a  few  miles  below  the  Hite  ranch. 


CHAPTER  XV 

PLACER    GOLD 

WE  passed  Loper' s  claim  after  resuming  our  journey 
the  next  day.  His  workings  were  a  one-man  proposi- 
tion and  very  ingenious.  We  found  a  tunnel  in  the  gravel 
a  hundred  feet  above  the  river,  and  some  distance  back 
from  the  river  bank.  A  track  of  light  rails  ran  from 
the  river  bank  to  these  workings ;  the  gravel  and  sand 
was  loaded  into  a  car,  and  hauled  or  pushed  to  the 
bank,  then  dumped  into  a  chute,  which  sent  it  down  to 
the  river's  edge. 

Loper  was  not  at  his  work  however,  neither  did  we 
find  him  at  his  ranch,  a  mile  down  the  river.  He  had 
a  neat  little  place,  with  fruit  trees  and  a  garden,  a  horse 
or  two,  and  some  poultry.  After  resuming  our  rowing, 
when  about  a  mile  down  the  river,  some  one  called  to  us 
from  the  shore,  and  Loper  himself  came  running  down 
to  meet  us.  John  Hite  had  requested  us  to  stop  and  see 
his  brother,  Cass  Hite,  who  owned  a  ranch  and  placer 
working  nearly  opposite  where  Loper  had  halted  us ;  so 

156 


PLACER  GOLD  157 

Loper  crossed  with  us,  as  he  was  anxious  to  know  of  our 
passage  through  the  canyons. 

We  found,  in  Cass  Kite,  an  interesting  "old-timer," 
one  who  had  followed  the  crowd  of  miners  and  pioneers, 
in  the  West,  since  the  discovery  of  gold  on  the  coast.  He 
was  the  discoverer  of  the  White  Canyon  Natural  Bridges, 
of  Southern  Utah,  located  between  this  point  and  the 
San  Juan  River,  and  had  been  the  first  to  open  the  ferry 
at  Dandy  Crossing.  Hite  had  prospected  Navajo  Moun- 
tain, southwest  of  this  point,  in  the  early  sixties,  about 
the  time  of  the  Navajos'  trouble  with  the  United  States 
army,  under  the  leadership  of  Kit  Carson,  who  dislodged 
them  from  their  strongholds  in  the  mountains  after  many 
others  had  failed.  Kite's  life  was  saved  on  more  than 
one  occasion  by  warnings  from  a  friendly  chief,  or  head 
man  of  the  Western  Navajos,  known  as  Hoskaninni, 
who  regarded  him  as  a  brother,  and  bestowed  on  him  the 
name,  Hosteen  pes'laki,*  meaning  "Silver  man."  He  is 
still  known  by  this  name,  and  refers  to  his  pretty  ranch 
as  Tick  a  Bo,  a  Ute  word  for  "friendly."  Hite  proudly 
quoted  a  poem  written  by  Cy  Warman  about  the  theme 
of  the  Indian's  regard  for  his  white  friend.  Warman 
had  followed  the  crowd  in  to  this  spot  at  the  time  of 
the  boom,  looking  for  local  colour  —  human  local  colour, 
not  the  glitter  in  the  sands.  It  was  at  John  Kite's  home 
where  Warman  had  composed  the  one  time  popular  song, 
"  Sweet  Marie."  It  would  be  safe  to  say  that  he  brought 


158  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

his  inspiration  with  him,  for  this  was  decidedly  a  man's 
country.  We  were  told  that  it  had  only  been  visited  by 
one  woman  in  the  past  twelve  years.  Hite  insisted  on 
our  remaining  until  the  following  morning,  and  we  con- 
cluded that  the  rest  would  do  us  good.  He  loaded  us  up 
with  watermelons,  and  with  raisins,  which  he  was  curing 
at  that  time.  We  spent  a  pleasant  afternoon  under  a 
shaded  arbour,  listening  to  his  reminiscences,  and  munch- 
ing at  the  raisins. 

That  evening  Loper  told  us  his  story  of  their  canyon 
expedition.  He  felt  a  little  bitter  about  some  newspaper 
reports  that  had  been  published  concerning  this  expedi- 
tion, these  reports  giving  the  impression  that  his  nerve 
had  failed  him,  and  that  for  this  reason  he  had  not  con- 
tinued on  the  journey.  We  mollified  his  feelings  some- 
what, when  we  told  him  that  his  companions  were  not 
responsible  for  these  reports ;  but  rather,  that  short  tele- 
graphic reports,  sent  out  from  the  Grand  Canyon,  had  been 
misconstrued  by  the  papers  ;  and  that  this  accounted  for 
the  stories  which  had  appeared.  His  companions  had 
remained  at  the  Grand  Canyon  for  two  days  following 
their  arrival  at  Bright  Angel  Trail.  They  gave  Loper 
credit,  to  our  certain  knowledge,  of  being  the  only  one 
of  the  party  who  knew  how  to  handle  the  boats  in  rough 
water  when  they  began  the  trip,  and  had  stated  that  he 
ran  all  the  boats  through  certain  rapids  until  they  caught 
the  knack.  They  could  not  know  of  his  reasons  for  the 


PLACER  GOLD 


159 


delay,  and  at  that  time  had  no  knowledge  of  his  arrival 
at  Lee's  Ferry,  after  they  had  gone.  Naturally  they  were 
very  much  puzzled  over  his  non-appearance. 

It  got  quite  cold  that  night,  and  we  were  glad  to  have 
the  shelter  of  Kite's  hospitable  roof.  In  our  trip  down 
the  river  to  this  point  we  had  seemed  to  keep  even  with 
the  first  cold  weather.  In  all  places  where  it  was  open, 
we  would  usually  find  a  little  ice  accompanied  by  frost 
in  the  mornings,  or  if  no  ice  had  frozen  the  grass  would 
be  wet  with  dew.  In  the  canyons  there  was  little  or  no 
ice,  and  the  air  was  quite  dry.  Naturally  we  preferred 
the  canyons  if  we  had  a  choice  of  camps. 

Loper  looked  as  though  he  would  like  to  accompany 
us  as  we  pulled  away  the  next  morning,  after  having 
landed  him  on  the  south  side  of  the  stream.  We,  at 
least,  had  full  confidence  in  his  nerve  to  tackle  the  lower 
Colorado,  after  his  record  in  Cataract  Canyon.  The  five 
scattered  peaks  of  the  Henry  Mountains  were  now  to 
the  north-northwest  of  us,  rugged  and  snow-capped, 
supreme  in  their  majesty  above  this  desolate  region. 

Signs  of  an  ancient  Indian  race  were  plentiful  in  this 
section.  There  were  several  small  cliff  dwellings,  walled 
up  in  ledges  in  the  rocks,  a  hundred  feet  or  so  above  a 
low  flat  which  banked  the  river.  At  another  place  there 
were  hundreds  of  carvings  on  a  similar  wall  which  over- 
hung a  little.  Drawings  of  mountain-sheep  were 
plentiful ;  there  was  one  representing  a  human  figure 


l6o  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

with  a  bow  and  arrow,  and  with  a  sheep  standing  on  the 
arrow  —  their  way  of  telling  that  he  got  the  sheep,  no 
doubt.  There  were  masked  figures  engaged  in  a  dance, 
not  unlike  some  of  the  Hop!  dances  of  to-day,  as  they 
picture  them.  There  were  geometrical  figures,  and 
designs  of  many  varieties.  A  small  rock  building  half 
covered  with  sand  and  the  accumulations  of  many  years 
stood  at  the  base  of  the  cliff;  and  quantities  of  broken 
pottery  were  scattered  about  the  ruin.  Farther  down 
the  river  a  pathway  was  worn  into  the  sandstone  where 
countless  bare  and  moccasined  feet  had  toiled,  and 
climbed  over  the  sloping  wall  to  the  mesa  above.  The 
ruins  in  this  section  were  not  extensive,  like  those  found 
in  the  tributary  canyons  of  the  San  Juan  River,  for  in- 
stance, not  a  very  great  distance  from  here.  Possibly 
this  people  stopped  here  as  they  travelled  back  and  forth, 
trading  with  their  cousins  to  the  north ;  or  the  dwellings 
may  have  been  built  by  the  scattered  members  of  the 
tribe,  when  their  strongholds  were  assailed  by  the  more 
warlike  tribes  that  crowded  in  on  them  from  all  sides. 
What  a  story  these  cliffs  could  tell !  What  a  romance 
they  could  narrate  of  various  tribes,  as  distinct  from 
each  other  as  the  nations  of  Europe,  crowding  each 
other;  and  at  the  last  of  this  inoffensive  race,  coming 
from  the  far  south,  it  may  be ;  driven  from  pillar  to  post, 
making  their  last  stand  in  this  desert  land ;  to  perish  of 
pestilence,  or  to  be  almost  exterminated  by  the  blood- 


PLACER  GOLD  l6i 

thirsty  tribes  that  surrounded  them  —  then  again,  when 
the  tide  changed,  and  a  new  type  of  invader  travelled 
from  the  east,  pushing  ever  to  the  west,  conquering  all 
before  them  !  But  like  the  sphinx,  the  cliffs  are  silent 
and  voiceless  as  the  hillocks  and  sand-dunes  along  the 
Nile,  that  other  desert  stream,  with  a  history  no  more 
ancient  and  momentous  than  this. 

That  night  we  camped  opposite  the  ruins  of  a  dredge, 
sunk  in  the  low  water  at  the  edge  of  the  river.  This 
dredge  had  once  represented  the  outlay  of  a  great  deal  of 
money.  It  is  conceded  by  nearly  all  experts  that  the 
sands  of  these  rivers  contain  gold,  but  it  is  of  such 
a  fine  grain  —  what  is  known  as  flour  gold  —  and  the 
expense  of  saving  it  is  so  great,  that  it  has  not  paid 
when  operated  on  such  a  large  scale.  A  few  placers  in 
Glen  Canyon  have  paid  individual  operators,  some  of 
these  claims  being  in  gravel  deposits  from  six  hundred  to 
eight  hundred  feet  above  the  present  level  of  the  river. 

On  the  following  day  we  again  entered  deep  canyon ; 
sheer  for  several  hundred  feet,  creamy  white  above,  with 
a  dark  red  colour  in  the  lower  sandstone  walls.  That 
afternoon  we  passed  a  small  muddy  stream  flowing  from 
the  north,  in  a  narrow,  rock-walled  canyon.  This  was 
the  Escalante  River,  a  stream  rising  far  to  the  north, 
named  for  one  of  the  Spanish  priests  who  had  travelled 
this  country,  both  to  the  north  and  the  south  of  this 
point,  as  early  as  the  year  1776,  about  the  time  when 


1 62  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

the  New  England  colonists  were  in  the  midst  of  their 
struggle  with  the  mother  country. 

Just  below  the  Escalante  River,  the  canyon  turned 
almost  directly  south,  continuing  in  this  general  direc- 
tion for  several  miles.  A  glimpse  or  two  was  had  of  the  top 
of  a  tree-covered  snow-capped  peak  directly  ahead  of  us, 
or  a  little  to  the  southwest.  This  could  be  none  other 
than  Navajo  Mountain,  a  peak  we  could  see  from  the 
Grand  Canyon,  and  had  often  talked  of  climbing,  but 
debated  if  we  could  spare  the  time,  now  that  we  were 
close  to  it. 

In  all  this  run  through  Glen  Canyon  we  had  a  good 
current,  but  only  one  place  resembling  a  rapid.  Here, 
below  the  Escalante,  it  was  very  quiet,  and  hard  pulling 
was  necessary  to  make  any  headway.  We  were  anxious 
to  reach  the  San  Juan  River  that  evening,  but  the  days 
were  growing  short,  and  we  were  still  many  miles  away 
when  it  began  to  grow  dusk ;  so  we  kept  a  lookout  for 
a  suitable  camp.  The  same  conditions  that  had  bothered 
us  on  one  or  two  previous  occasions  were  found  here; 
slippery,  muddy  banks,  and  quicksand,  together  with  an 
absence  of  firewood.  We  had  learned  before  this  to 
expect  these  conditions  where  the  water  was  not  swift. 
The  slower  stream  had  a  chance  to  deposit  its  silt,  and 
if  the  high  water  had  been  very  quiet,  we  could  expect  to 
find  it  soft,  or  boggy.  In  the  canyons  containing  swift 
water  and  rapids  we  seldom  found  mud,  but  found  a 


PLACER  GOLD  163 

clean,  firm  sand,  instead.  Here  in  Glen  Canyon  we  had 
plenty  of  mud,  for  the  river  had  been  falling  the  last  few 
days.  Time  and  again  we  inspected  seemingly  favourable 
places,  only  to  be  disappointed.  The  willows  and  dense 
shrubbery  came  down  close  to  the  river;  the  mud  was 
black,  deep,  and  sticky;  all  driftwood  had  gone  out  on 
the  last  flood.  Meanwhile  a  glorious  full  moon  had 
risen,  spreading  a  soft,  weird  light  over  the  canyon 
walls  and  the  river;  so  that  we  now  had  a  light  much 
better  than  the  dusk  of  half  an  hour  previous,  our  course 
being  almost  due  south.  Finally,  becoming  discouraged, 
we  decided  to  pull  for  the  San  Juan  River,  feeling  sure 
that  we  would  find  a  sand-bar  there.  It  was  late  when 
we  reached  it,  and  instead  of  a  sand-bar  we  found  a  delta 
of  bottomless  mud.  We  had  drifted  past  the  point  where 
the  rivers  joined,  before  noticing  that  the  stream  turned 
directly  to  the  west,  with  canyon  walls  two  or  three  hun- 
dred feet  high,  and  no  moonlight  entered  there.  In- 
stead, it  was  black  as  a  dungeon.  From  down  in  that 
darkness  there  came  a  muffled  roar,  reverberating  against 
the  walls,  and  sounding  decidedly  like  a  rapid.  There 
was  not  a  minute  to  lose.  We  pulled,  and  pulled  hard  — 
for  the  stream  was  now  quite  swift  close  to  the  right 
shore,  and  a  sheer  bank  of  earth  about  ten  feet  high 
made  it  difficult  to  land.  Jumping  into  the  mud  at  the 
edge  of  the  water,  we  tied  the  boats  to  some  bushes, 
then  tore  down  the  bank  and  climbed  out  on  a  dry, 


1 64  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

sandy  point  of  land.  At  the  end  or  sharp  turn  of  the 
sheer  wall  we  found  a  fair  camp,  with  driftwood  enough 
for  that  night.  Emery,  weak  from  his  former  illness 
and  the  long  day's  run,  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  we  had 
eaten  a  light  supper.  I  looked  after  the  cooking  that 
evening,  making  some  baking-powder  bread,  —  other- 
wise known  as  a  flapjack,  —  along  with  other  arrange- 
ments for  the  next  day ;  but  I  fear  my  efforts  as  a  cook 
always  resulted  rather  poorly. 

We  had  breakfast  at  an  early  hour  the  next  morning, 
and  were  ready  for  the  boats  at  7.15,  the  earliest  start 
to  our  record.  Our  rapid  of  the  night  before  proved  to 
be  a  false  alarm,  being  nothing  more  than  the  breaking 
of  swift  water  as  it  swept  the  banks  of  rocks  at  the  turn. 
It  was  quite  different  from  what  we  had  pictured  in  our 
minds. 

We  had  long  looked  forward  to  this  day.  Navajo 
Mountain,  with  bare,  jagged  sides  and  tree-covered  dome, 
was  located  just  a  few  miles  below  this  camp.  It  was  a 
sandstone  mountain  peak,  towering  7000  feet  above  the 
river,  the  steep  slope  beginning  some  five  or  six  miles 
back  from  the  stream.  The  base  on  which  it  rested  was 
of  sandstone,  rounded  and  gullied  into  curious  forms,  a 
warm  red  and  orange  colour  predominating.  The  north 
side,  facing  the  river,  was  steep  of  slope,  covered  with 
the  fragments  of  crumbled  cliffs  and  with  soft  cream- 
tinted  pinnacles  rising  from  its  slope.  The  south  side, 


PLACER  GOLD  165 

we  had  reason  to  believe,  was  tree-covered  from  top  to 
bottom ;  the  north  side  held  only  a  few  scattered  cedar 
and  pifion.  We  had  often  seen  the  hazy  blue  dome  from 
the  Grand  Canyon,  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  away, 
and  while  it  was  fifty  miles  farther  by  the  river,  we  felt 
as  if  we  were  entered  on  the  home  stretch ;  as  if  we  were 
in  a  country  with  which  we  were  somewhat  familiar. 

The  Colorado  and  the  San  Juan  rivers  form  the 
northern  boundary  of  the  Navajo  Indian  Reservation, 
comprising  a  tract  of  land  as  large  as  many  Eastern  states, 
extending  over  a  hundred  miles,  both  east  and  west 
from  this  point.  Embodied  in  this  reservation,  and 
directly  opposite  our  camp,  was  a  small  section  of  rugged 
land  set  aside  for  some  Utes,  who  had  friendly  dealings, 
and  who  had  intermarried  with  the  Navajo.  But  if  we 
expected  to  find  the  Navajo,  or  Utes  on  the  shore,  ready 
to  greet  us,  we  were  doomed  to  disappointment. 

We  explored  a  few  side  canyons  this  morning, 
hoping  to  find  a  spot  where  some  of  Major  Powell's 
party  —  particularly  those  men  who  were  afterwards 
killed  by  the  Indians  —  had  chiselled  their  names,  which 
record  we  were  told  was  to  be  found  near  the  San  Juan, 
but  on  which  side  we  were  not  sure.  While  in  one  of 
these  canyons,  or  what  was  really  nothing  more  than  a 
crooked  overhanging  slit  in  the  rocks,  containing  a 
small  stream,  Emery  found  himself  in  some  soft 
quicksand,  plunged  instantly  above  his  knees,  and 


1 66  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

sinking  rapidly.  He  would  have  had  a  difficult  time  in 
getting  out  of  this  quicksand  without  help,  for  a  smooth 
rock  wall  was  on  one  side,  the  other  bank  of  the  stream 
was  sheer  above  him  for  a  few  feet,  and  there  was  nothing 
solid  which  he  could  reach.  We  had  seen  a  great  deal  of 
quicksand  before  this,  but  nothing  of  this  treacherous 
nature.  Usually  we  could  walk  quickly  over  these  sands, 
without  any  danger  of  being  held  in  them,  or  if  caught  — 
while  lifting  on  a  boat  for  instance  —  had  no  difficulty  in 
getting  out.  When  once  out  of  this  canyon  we  gave  up 
our  search  for  the  carved  record. 

But  it  was  not  the  hope  of  shortening  our  homeward 
run,  or  the  prospect  of  meeting  Indians  on  the  shores, 
or  of  finding  historical  records,  even,  that  caused  us  to 
make  this  early  start.  It  was  the  knowledge  that  the 
wonderful  Rainbow  Natural  Bridge,  recently  discovered, 
and  only  visited  by  three  parties  of  whites,  lay  hidden 
in  one  of  the  side  canyons  that  ran  from  the  north  slope 
of  Navajo  Mountain.  No  one  had  gone  into  it  from  the 
river,  but  we  were  told  it  could  be  done.  We  hoped 
to  find  this  bridge. 

The  current  was  swift,  and  we  travelled  fast,  in  spite 
of  a  stiff  wind  which  blew  up  the  stream,  getting  a  very 
good  view  of  the  mountain  from  the  river  a  few  miles 
below  our  camp,  and  another  view  of  the  extreme  top, 
a  short  distance  below  this  place,  not  over  six  miles  from 
the  San  Juan.  We  had  directions  describing  the  canyon 


PLACER  GOLD  167 

in  which  the  bridge  was  located,  our  informant  surmising 
that  it  was  thirty  miles  below  the  San  Juan.  We  thought 
it  must  be  less  than  that,  for  the  river  was  very  direct 
at  this  place,  and  a  person  travelling  over  the  extremely 
rough  country  which  surrounded  this  side  of  the  mountain 
slope  would  naturally  have  to  travel  much  farther,  so 
we  began  to  look  for  it  about  twelve  miles  below  camp. 
But  mile  after  mile  went  by  without  any  sign  of  the 
landmarks  that  would  tell  us  we  were  at  the  "Bridge 
Canyon."  Then  the  river,  which  had  circled  the  northern 
side  of  the  peak,  turned  directly  away  from  it,  and  we 
knew  that  we  had  missed  the  bridge.  At  no  point  on 
the  trip  had  we  met  with  a  disappointment  to  equal  that ; 
even  the  loss  of  our  moving-picture  film,  after  our  spill 
in  Lodore,  was  small  when  compared  with  it. 

On  looking  back  over  the  lay  of  the  land,  we  felt 
sure  that  the  bridge  was  at  one  of  the  two  places,  where 
we  had  seen  the  top  of  the  mountain  from  the  river. 
To  go  back  against  the  current  would  take  at  least  three 
days.  Our  provisions  were  limited  in  quantity  and 
would  not  permit  it;  the  canyon  had  deepened,  and  a 
second  bench  of  sheer  cliffs  rose  above  the  plateau, 
making  it  impossible  to  climb  out :  so  we  concluded  to 
make  the  best  of  it,  and  pulled  down  the  stream,  trying 
to  put  as  many  miles  as  possible  between  ourselves  and 
our  great  disappointment.  This  afternoon  we  passed 
from  Utah  into  Arizona.  For  the  remainder  of  the  trip 


1 68  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

we  would  have  Arizona  on  one  side  of  the  river  at  least. 
We  had  much  the  same  difficulty  this  evening  as  we  had 
had  the  night  before  in  finding  a  camp.  Judging  by  the 
evidence  along  the  shore,  the  high  water  which  came  down 
the  San  Juan  had  been  a  torrent,  much  greater  than 
the  flood  on  the  Colorado  and  its  upper  tributaries. 


Copyright  by  Koltt  Bros. 

RAINBOW  NATURAL  BRIDGE  BETWEEN  THE  COLORADO  RIVER  AND  NAVAJO 
MOUNTAIN.  HEIGHT  THREE  HUNDRED  AND  EIGHT  FEET;  SPAN  TWO  HUNDRED 
AND  SEVENTY  FEET.  NOTE  FIGURE  ON  TOP.  PHOTO  BY  KOLB  BROTHERS,  SEP- 
TEMBER, 1913. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A   WARNING 

WE  camped  that  night  at  the  Ute  Ford,  or  the  Crossing 
of  the  Fathers  ;  a  noted  landmark  of  bygone  days,  when 
Escalante  (in  1776)  and  others  later  followed  the  inter- 
tribal trails  across  these  unfriendly  lands.  Later  maraud- 
ing Navajo  used  this  trail,  crossing  the  canyon  to  the 
north  side,  raiding  the  scattered  Mormon  settlements, 
bringing  their  stolen  horses,  and  even  sheep,  down  this 
canyon  trail.  Then  they  drove  them  across  on  a  frozen 
river,  and  escaped  with  them  to  their  mountain  fastness. 
The  Mormons  finally  tired  of  these  predatory  visits,  and 
shut  off  all  further  loss  from  that  source  by  blasting  off  a 
great  ledge  at  the  north  end  of  the  trail.  This  ruined  the 
trail  beyond  all  hope  of  repair,  and  there  is  no  travel 
at  present  over  the  old  Ute  Crossing.  The  fording  of 
the  river  on  horseback  was  effected  by  dropping  down  to 
the  river  through  a  narrow  side  canyon,  and  crossing  to 
the  centre  on  a  shoal,  then  following  a  centre  shoal  down 

for  quite  a  distance,  and  completing  the  crossing  at  a  low 

169 


170  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

point  on  the  opposite  side.  This  was  only  possible  at 
the  very  lowest  stage  of  water. 

The  morning  following  our  arrival  here,  we  walked 
about  a  mile  up  the  gravelly  slope  on  the  south  side,  to 
see  if  we  could  locate  the  pass  by  which  the  trail  dropped 
down  over  these  3OOO-foot  walls.  The  canyon  had 
changed  in  appearance  after  leaving  the  mountain,  and 
now  we  had  a  canyon ;  smaller,  but  not  unlike  the  Grand 
Canyon  in  appearance,  with  an  inner  plateau,  and  a 
narrow  canyon  at  the  river,  while  the  walls  on  top  were 
several  miles  apart,  and  towering  peaks  or  buttes  rose 
from  the  plateau,  reaching  a  height  almost  equal  to  the 
walls  themselves.  The  upper  walls  were  cream-tinted 
or  white  sandstone,  the  lower  formation  was  a  warm 
red  sandstone.  We  could  not  discover  the  pass  without 
a  long  walk  to  the  base  of  the  upper  cliffs,  so  returned 
to  the  boats. 

About  this  time  we  heard  shots,  seeming  to  come  from 
some  point  down  the  river,  and  on  the  north  side.  Later 
a  dull  hollow  sound  was  heard  like  pounding  on  a  great 
bass  drum.  We  could  not  imagine  what  it  was,  but  knew 
that  it  must  be  a  great  distance  away.  We  had  noticed 
instances  before  this,  where  these  smooth,  narrow  canyons 
had  a  great  magnifying  effect  on  noises.  In  the  section 
above  the  San  Juan,  where  the  upper  walls  overhung  a  little, 
a  loud  call  would  roll  along  for  minutes  before  it  finally 
died.  A  shot  from  a  revolver  sounded  as  if  the  cliffs 
were  falling. 


A  WARNING  171 

Our  run  this  morning  was  delightful.  The  current 
was  the  best  on  which  we  had  travelled.  The  channel 
swung  from  side  to  side,  in  great  half  circles,  with  most  of 
the  water  thrown  against  the  outside  bank,  or  wall,  with 
a  five-  or  six-mile  an  hour  current  close  to  the  wall.  We 
took  advantage  of  all  this  current,  hugging  the  wall, 
with  the  stern  almost  touching,  and  with  the  bow  pointed 
out  so  we  would  not  run  into  the  walls  or  scrape  our  oars. 
Then,  when  it  seemed  as  if  our  necks  were  about  to  be 
permanently  dislocated,  from  looking  over  one  shoulder, 
the  river  would  reverse  its  curve,  the  channel  would  cross 
to  the  other  side,  and  we  would  give  that  side  of  our  necks 
a  rest.  Once  in  a  great  while  I  would  bump  a  rock,  and 
would  look  around  sheepishly,  to  see  if  my  brother  had 
seen  me  do  it.  I  usually  found  him  with  a  big  grin  on 
his  face,  if  he  happened  to  be  ahead  of  me. 

We  rowed  about  twenty  miles  down  the  river  before 
we  learned  what  had  caused  the  noises  heard  in  the 
morning.  On  rounding  a  turn  we  saw  the  strange  spec- 
tacle of  fifteen  or  twenty  men  at  work  on  the  half-con- 
structed hull  of  a  flat-bottomed  steamboat,  over  sixty 
feet  in  length.  This  boat  was  on  the  bank  quite  a  dis- 
tance above  the  water,  with  the  perpendicular  walls  of  a 
crooked  side  canyon  rising  above  it.  It  was  a  strange 
sight,  here  in  this  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  world. 
Some  men  with  heavy  sledges  were  under  the  boat,  driving 
large  spikes  into  the  planking.  This  was  the  noise  we 
had  heard  that  morning. 


172  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

The  blasting,  we  learned  later,  was  at  some  coal 
mines,  several  miles  up  this  little  canyon,  which  bore 
the  name  of  Warm  Creek  Canyon.  A  road  led  down 
through  the  canyon,  making  it  possible  to  haul  the  lumber 
for  the  boat,  clear  to  the  river's  edge.  The  nearest  rail- 
road was  close  to  two  hundred  miles  from  this  place, 
quite  a  haul  considering  the  ruggedness  of  the  country. 
The  material  for  the  boat  had  been  shipped  from  San 
Francisco,  all  cut,  ready  to  put  together.  The  vessel 
was  to  be  used  to  carry  coal  down  the  river,  to  a  dredge 
that  had  recently  been  installed  at  Lee's  Ferry. 

The  dinner  gong  had  just  sounded  when  we  landed, 
and  we  were  taken  along  with  the  crowd.  There  were 
some  old  acquaintances  in  this  group  of  men,  we  found, 
from  Flagstaff,  Arizona.  These  men  had  received  a 
Flagstaff  paper  which  had  published  a  short  note  we  had 
sent  from  Green  River,  Utah.  They  had  added  a  com- 
ment that  no  doubt  this  would  be  the  last  message  we 
would  have  an  opportunity  to  send  out.  Very  cheering 
for  Emery's  wife,  no  doubt.  Fortunately  she  shared  our 
enthusiasm,  and  if  she  felt  any  apprehension  her  few 
letters  failed  to  show  it. 

We  resumed  our  rowing  at  once  after  dinner,  for  we 
wished  to  reach  Lee's  Ferry,  twenty-five  miles  distant, 
that  evening.  We  had  a  good  current,  and  soon  left  our 
friends  behind  us.  We  pulled  with  a  will,  and  mile  after 
mile  was  covered  in  record  time,  for  our  heavy  boats. 


A  WARNING  173 

The  walls  continued  to  get  higher  as  we  neared  our 
goal,  going  up  sheer  close  to  the  river.  We  judged  the 
greatest  of  these  walls  to  be  about  eleven  hundred  feet 
high.  After  four  hours  of  steady  pulling  we  began  to 
weary,  for  ours  were  no  light  loads  to  propel ;  but  we  were 
spurred  to  renewed  effort  by  hearing  the  sounds  of  an 
engine  in  the  distance.  On  rounding  a  turn  we  saw  the 
end  of  Glen  Canyon  ahead  of  us,  marked  by  a  breaking 
down  of  the  walls,  and  a  chaotic  mixture  of  dikes  of  rock, 
and  slides  of  brilliantly  coloured  shales,  broken  and  tilted 
in  every  direction.  Just  below  this,  close  to  a  ferry,  we 
saw  the  dredge  on  the  right  side  of  the  river.  We  were 
quite  close  to  the  dredge  before  we  were  seen.  Some 
men  paused  at  their  work  to  watch  us  as  we  neared  them, 
one  man  calling  to  those  behind  him,  "There  come  the 
brothers  !  " 

A  whistle  blew  announcing  the  end  of  their  day's  labour, 
and  of  ours  as  well,  as  it  happened.  There  was  some 
cheering  and  waving  of  hats.  One  who  seemed  to  be  the 
foreman  asked  us  to  tie  up  to  a  float  which  served  as  a 
landing  for  three  motor  boats,  and  a  number  of  skiffs. 
A  loudly  beaten  triangle  of  steel  announced  that  the 
evening  meal  was  ready  at  a  stone  building  not  far  from  the 
dredge.  We  were  soon  seated  at  a  long  table  with  a  lot 
of  others  as  hungry  as  we,  partaking  of  a  well-cooked 
and  substantial  meal.  We  made  arrangements  to  take 
a  few  meals  here,  as  we  wished  to  overhaul  our  outfits 
before  resuming  our  journey. 


174  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

The  meal  ended,  we  inquired  for  the  post-office,  and 
were  directed  to  a  ranch  building  across  the  Paria  River, 
a  small  stream  which  entered  from  the  north,  not  unlike 
the  Fremont  River  in  size  and  appearance.  Picking 
our  way  in  the  darkness,  on  boulders  and  planks  which 
served  as  a  crossing,  we  soon  reached  the  building,  set 
back  from  the  river  in  the  centre  of  the  ranch.  A 
man  named  Johnson,  with  his  family,  had  charge  of  the 
ranch  and  post-office  as  well.  Mail  is  brought  by  carrier 
from  the  south,  a  cross-country  trip  of  160  miles, 
through  the  Hopi  and  Navajo  Indian  Reservations. 

Johnson  informed  us  that  an  old-time  friend  named 
Dave  Rust  had  waited  here  three  or  four  days,  hoping 
to  see  us  arrive,  but  business  matters  had  forced  him  to 
leave  just  the  day  before.  We  were  very  sorry  to  have 
missed  him.  Rust  lived  in  the  little  Mormon  town  of 
Kanab,  Utah,  eighty  miles  north  of  the  Grand  Canyon 
opposite  our  home.  In  addition  to  being  a  cattle  man 
and  rancher,  he  had  superintended  the  construction  of  a 
cable  crossing,  or  tramway,  over  the  Colorado  River, 
beside  the  mouth  of  Bright  Angel  Creek,  not  many  miles 
from  our  home.  He  also  maintains  a  cozy  camp  at  this 
place,  for  the  accommodation  of  tourists  and  hunting  par- 
ties, which  he  conducts  up  Bright  Angel  Creek  and 
into  the  Kaibab  Forest.  It  was  while  returning  from 
such  a  hunting  trip  that  we  first  met  Rust.  Many  are 
the  trips  we  have  taken  with  him  since  then,  Emery,  with 


I 


A  WARNING  175 

his  wife  and  the  baby,  even,  making  the  "crossing" 
and  the  eighty-mile  horseback  ride  to  his  home  in  Kanab, 
while  I  had  continued  on  through  to  Salt  Lake  City. 
Rust  had  been  the  first  to  tell  us  of  Galloway  and  his 
boating  methods ;  and  had  given  us  a  practical  demon- 
stration on  the  river.  Naturally  there  was  no  one  we 
would  have  been  more  pleased  to  see  at  that  place, 
than  Rust. 

In  our  mail  we  found  a  letter  from  him,  stating,  among 
other  things,  that  he  had  camped  the  night  before  on 
the  plateau,  a  few  hundred  feet  above  a  certain  big  rapid, 
well  known  through  this  section  as  the  Soap  Creek  Rapid. 
This  locality  is  credited  with  being  the  scene  of  the  first 
fatality  which  overtook  the  Brown-Stanton  expedition ; 
Brown  being  upset  and  drowned  in  the  next  rapid  which 
followed,  after  having  portaged  the  Soap  Creek  Rapid. 
Rust  wrote  also  that  there  was  a  shore  along  the  rapid, 
so  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  making  the  portage ;  and 
concluded  by  saying  that  he  had  a  very  impressive  dream 
about  us  that  night,  the  second  of  its  kind  since  we  had 
started  on  our  journey. 

We  understood  from  this  that  he  had  certain  mis- 
givings about  this  rapid,  and  took  his  dream  to  be  a  sort 
of  a  warning.  Rust  should  have  known  us  better. 
With  all  the  perversity  of  human  nature  that  letter  made 
me  want  to  run  that  rapid  if  it  were  possible.  Why 
not  run  the  rapid,  and  get  a  moving  picture  as  it  was  being 


176  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

done.  Then  we  could  show  Rust  how  well  we  had  learned 
our  lesson  !  So  I  thought  as  we  returned  to  the  buildings 
near  the  dredge,  but  said  nothing  of  what  was  in  my  mind 
to  Emery,  making  the  mental  reservation  that  I  would 
see  the  rapid  first  and  decide  afterwards. 

The  foreman  of  the  placer  mines  called  us  into  his 
office  that  evening,  and  suggested  that  it  might  be  a  good 
plan  to  go  over  our  boats  thoroughly  before  we  left, 
and  offered  us  the  privilege  of  using  their  workshop, 
with  all  its  conveniences,  for  any  needed  repairs.  He 
also  let  us  have  a  room  in  one  of  the  buildings  for  our 
photographic  work. 

This  foreman  mourned  the  loss  of  a  friend  who  had 
recently  been  drowned  at  the  ferry.  It  seemed  that  the 
floods  which  had  preceded  us,  especially  that  part  which 
came  down  the  San  Juan  River,  had  been  something 
tremendous,  rising  45  feet  at  the  ferry,  where  the  river 
was  400  feet  wide ;  and  rising  much  higher  in  the  narrow 
portions  of  Glen  Canyon.  Great  masses  of  driftwood 
had  floated  down,  looking  almost  like  a  continuous  raft. 
When  the  river  had  subsided  somewhat,  an  attempt 
was  made  to  cross  with  the  ferry.  The  foreman  and 
his  friend,  with  two  others,  and  a  team  of  horses  hitched 
to  a  wagon,  were  on  the  ferry.  When  in  midstream, 
it  overturned  in  the  swollen  current.  Three  of  the  men 
escaped,  the  other  man  and  the  horses  were  drowned. 

A  careful  search  had  been  made  for  the  body  to  a 


A  WARNING  177 

point  a  few  miles  down  the  river,  then  the  canyon 
closed  in  and  they  could  go  no  farther.  The  body  was 
never  recovered.  It  is  seldom  that  the  Colorado  River 
gives  up  its  dead.  The  heavy  sands  collect  in  the  clothes, 
and  a  body  sinks  much  quicker  than  in  ordinary  water. 
Any  object  lodged  on  the  bottom  is  soon  covered  with  a 
sand-bar.  The  foreman  knew  this,  of  course;  yet  he  wished 
us  to  keep  a  lookout  for  the  body,  which  might,  by  some 
chance,  have  caught  on  the  shore,  when  the  water  re- 
ceded. This  was  as  little  as  any  one  would  do,  and  we 
gave  him  our  promise  to  keep  a  careful  watch. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  NIGHT   OF   THRILLS 

WE  declined  the  offer  of  a  roof  that  night,  preferring 
to  sleep  in  the  open  here,  for  the  evening  was  quite  warm. 
We  went  to  work  the  next  morning  when  the  whistle 
sounded  at  the  dredge.  Beyond  caulking  a  few  leaks 
in  the  boats,  little  was  done  with  them.  The  tin  re- 
ceptacles holding  our  photographic  plates  and  films  were 
carefully  coated  with  a  covering  of  melted  paraffine  ;  for 
almost  anything  might  happen,  in  the  one  hundred  miles 
of  rapid  water  that  separated  us  from  our  home. 

Lee's  Ferry  was  an  interesting  place,  both  for  its  old 
and  its  new  associations.  This  had  long  been  the  home 
of  John  D.  Lee,  well  known  for  the  part  he  took  in  the 
Mountain  Meadow  Massacre,  and  for  which  he  afterwards 
paid  the  death  penalty.  Here  Lee  had  lived  for  many 
years,  making  few  visits  to  the  small  settlements  to  the 
north,  but  on  one  of  these  visits  he  was  captured.  There 
were  six  or  seven  other  buildings  near  the  large  stone  build- 
ing where  we  took  our  meals,  so  arranged  that  they  made 
a  short  street,  the  upper  row  being  built  against  a  cliff 

178 


A  NIGHT  OF  THRILLS  179 

of  rock  and  shale,  the  other  row  being  placed  halfway 
between  this  row  and  the  river.  These  buildings  were 
all  of  rock,  of  which  there  was  no  lack,  plastered  with 
adobe,  or  mud.  One,  we  were  told,  had  been  Lee's 
stronghold.  It  was  a  square  building,  with  a  few  very 
small  windows,  and  with  loopholes  in  the  sides.  At 
the  time  of  our  visit  it  was  occupied  by  two  men ;  one, 
a  young  Englishman,  recently  arrived  from  South  Africa 
—  a  remittance-man,  in  search  of  novelty  —  the  other 
a  grizzled  forty-niner.  Much  could  be  written  about 
this  interesting  group  of  men,  and  their  alluring  employ- 
ment. There  were  some  who  had  followed  this  work 
through  all  the  camps  of  the  West  —  to  Colorado,  to 
California,  and  to  distant  Alaska  as  well,  they  had 
journeyed ;  but  it  is  doubtful  if,  in  all  their  wanderings, 
they  had  seen  any  camp  more  strangely  located  than  this, 
hemmed  in  with  canyon  walls.  To  us,  their  dredge  and 
the  steamboat  up  the  river  seemed  as  if  they  had  been 
taken  from  the  pages  of  some  romance,  or  bit  of  fiction, 
and  placed  before  us  for  our  entertainment. 

There  were  other  men  as  well,  just  as  interesting 
in  their  way  as  the  "old-timers,"  the  sons  of  some  of  the 
owners  of  this  proposition,  —  clean-cut  young  fellows,  — 
working  side  by  side  with  the  veterans,  as  enthusiastic 
as  if  on  their  college  campus. 

One  feature  about  the  dredge  interested  us  greatly. 
This  was  a  tube,  or  sucker,  held  suspended  by  a  derrick 


l8o   THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM, WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

above  a  float,  and  operated  by  compressed  air.  This 
tube  was  dropped  into  the  sand  at  the  bottom  of  the  river, 
and  would  eat  its  way  into  it,  bringing  up  rocks  the  size 
of  one's  fist,  along  with  the  gravel  and  sand.  In  a 
few  hours  a  hole,  ten  or  fifteen  feet  in  depth  and  ten 
feet  in  diameter,  would  be  excavated.  Then  the  tube 
was  raised,  the  float  was  moved,  and  the  work  started 
again.  The  coarse  sand  and  gravel,  carried  by  a  stream 
of  water,  was  returned  to  the  river,  after  passing  over 
the  riffles ;  the  screenings  which  remained  passed  over 
square  metal  plates  —  looking  like  sheets  of  tin  —  covered 
with  quicksilver.  These  plates  were  cleaned  with  a 
rubber  window-cleaner,  and  the  entire  residue  was 
saved  in  a  heavy  metal  pot,  ready  for  the  chemist. 

One  day  only  was  needed  for  our  work,  and  by  evening 
we  were  ready  for  the  next  plunge.  We  might  have 
enjoyed  a  longer  stay  with  these  men,  but  stronger  than 
this  desire  was  our  anxiety  to  reach  our  home,  separated 
from  us  by  a  hundred  miles  of  river,  no  extended  part 
of  the  distance  being  entirely  free  from  rapids.  We 
had  written  to  the  Grand  Canyon,  bidding  them  look 
for  our  signal  fire  in  Bright  Angel  Creek  Canyon,  in  from 
seven  to  ten  days,  and  planned  to  leave  on  the  following 
morning.  Nothing  held  us  now  except  the  hope  that  the 
mail,  which  was  due  that  evening,  might  bring  us  a  letter, 
although  that  was  doubtful,  for  we  were  nearly  a  week 
ahead  of  our  schedule  as  laid  out  at  Green  River,  Utah. 


A  NIGHT  OF  THRILLS  l8l 

As  we  had  anticipated,  there  was  no  mail  for  us,  so 
we  turned  to  inspect  the  mail  carrier.  He  was  a  splendid 
specimen  of  the  Navajo  Indian,  —  a  wrestler  of  note 
among  his  people,  we  were  told,  —  large  and  muscular, 
and  with  a  peculiar  springy,  slouchy  walk  that  gave  one 
the  impression  of  great  reserve  strength.  He  had  ridden 
that  day  from  Tuba,  an  agency  on  their  reservation, 
about  seventy  miles  distant.  This  was  the  first  sign 
of  an  Indian  that  we  had  seen  in  this  section,  although 
we  had  been  travelling  along  the  northern  boundary  of 
their  reservation  since  leaving  the  mouth  of  the  San 
Juan.  These  Indians  have  no  use  for  the  river,  being 
children  of  the  desert,  rather  than  of  the  water.  Beyond 
an  occasional  crossing  and  swimming  their  horses  at 
easy  fords,  they  make  no  attempt  at  its  navigation,  even 
in  the  quiet  water  of  Glen  Canyon. 

Some  of  the  men  showed  this  Indian  our  boats,  and 
told  him  of  our  journey.  He  smiled,  and  shrugged 
his  massive  shoulders  as  much  as  to  say,  he  "would 
believe  it  when  he  saw  it."  He  had  an  opportunity  to 
see  us  start,  at  least,  on  the  following  morning. 

Before  leaving,  we  climbed  a  3OO-foot  mound  on  the 
left  bank  of  the  Paria  River,  directly  opposite  the  Lee 
ranch.  This  mound  is  known  as  Lee's  Lookout.  Whether 
used  by  Lee  or  not,  it  had  certainly  served  that  purpose 
at  some  time.  A  circular  wall  of  rock  was  built  on  top 
of  the  mound,  and  commanded  an  excellent  view  of  all 


1 82  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

the  approaches  to  the  junction  of  the  rivers.  This  spot 
is  of  particular  interest  to  the  geologist,  for  a  great  fault, 
indicated  by  the  Vermilion  Cliffs,  marks  the  division 
between  Glen  Canyon  and  Marble  Canyon.  This  line 
of  cliffs  extends  to  the  south  for  many  miles  across  the 
Painted  Desert,  and  north  into  Utah  for  even  a  greater 
distance,  varying  in  height  from  two  hundred  feet  at 
the  southern  end  to  as  many  thousand  feet  in  some  places 
to  the  north.  Looking  to  the  west,  we  could  see  that  here 
was  another  of  those  sloping  uplifts  of  rock,  with  the 
river  cutting  down,  increasing  the  depth  of  the  canyon 
with  every  mile. 

We  had  now  descended  about  2900  feet  since  leaving 
Green  River  City,  Wyoming,  not  a  very  great  fall  for 
the  distance  travelled  if  an  average  is  taken,  but  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  the  distance  was  on  quiet  water,  as 
we  have  noted,  with  a  fall  of  a  foot  or  two  to  the  mile, 
and  with  alternate  sections  only  containing  bad  water. 
We  were  still  at  an  elevation  of  3170  feet  above  the  sea- 
level,  and  in  the  283  miles  of  canyon  ahead  of  us  — 
Marble  Canyon  and  the  Grand  Canyon  combined  —  the 
river  descends  2330  feet,  almost  a  continuous  series  of 
rapids  from  this  point  to  the  end  of  the  Grand  Canyon. 

After  a  hasty  survey  from  our  vantage  point,  we 
returned  to  the  river  and  prepared  to  embark.  As  we 
left  the  dredge,  the  work  was  closed  down  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  the  entire  crowd  of  men,  about  forty  in 


A  NIGHT  OF  THRILLS  183 

number,  stood  on  an  elevation  to  watch  us  run  the  first 
rapid.  The  Indian  had  crossed  to  the  south  side  of  the 
river  to  feed  his  horse  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  us  as  we 
went  past  him.  Running  pell-mell  down  to  his  boat, 
he  crossed  the  river  and  joined  the  group  on  the  bank. 
About  this  time  we  were  in  the  grip  of  the  first  rapid,  a 
long  splashy  one,  with  no  danger  whatever,  but  large 
enough  to  keep  us  busy  until  we  had  passed  from  view. 

A  few  miles  below  this,  after  running  a  pair  of  small 
rapids,  we  reached  a  larger  one,  known  as  the  Badger 
Creek  Rapid,  with  a  twenty-foot  drop  in  the  first  250 
feet,  succeeded  by  a  hundred  yards  of  violent  water. 
Emery  had  a  little  difficulty  in  this  rapid,  when  his  boat 
touched  a  rock  which  turned  the  boat  sideways  in  the 
current,  and  he  was  nearly  overturned  in  the  heavy  waves 
which  followed.  As  it  was,  we  were  both  drenched. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  twelve  miles  below 
Lee's  Ferry,  we  reached  the  Soap  Creek  Rapid  of  which 
we  had  heard  so  much.  The  rapid  had  a  fall  of  twenty- 
five  feet,  and  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long.  Most  of  the 
fall  occurred  in  the  first  fifty  yards.  The  river  had 
narrowed  down  until  it  was  less  than  two  hundred  feet 
wide  at  the  beginning  of  the  descent.  Many  rocks  were 
scattered  all  through  the  upper  end,  especially  at  the 
first  drop.  On  the  very  brink  or  edge  of  the  first  fall, 
there  was  a  submerged  rock  in  the  centre  of  the  channel, 
making  an  eight-foot  fall  over  the  rock.  A  violent 


1 84  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

current,  deflected  from  the  left  shore,  shot  into  this 
centre  and  added  to  the  confusion.  Twelve-foot  waves, 
from  the  conflicting  currents,  played  leap-frog,  jumping 
over  or  through  each  other  alternately.  Clearly  there 
was  no  channel  on  that  side.  On  the  right  or  north  side 
of  the  stream  it  looked  more  feasible,  as  the  water  shot 
down  a  sloping  chute  over  a  hundred  feet  before  meeting 
with  an  obstruction.  This  came  in  the  shape  of  two 
rocks,  one  about  thirty  feet  below  the  other.  To  run  the 
rapid  this  first  rock  would  have  to  be  passed  before 
any  attempt  could  be  made  to  pull  away  from  the 
second  rock,  which  was  quite  close  to  the  shore. 
Once  past  that  there  was  a  clear  channel  to  the  end  of 
the  rapid,  if  the  centre,  which  contained  many  rocks, 
was  avoided.  Below  the  rapid  was  the  usual  whirlpool, 
then  a  smaller  rapid,  running  under  the  left  wall.  This 
second  rapid  was  the  one  that  had  been  so  fatal  for 
Brown.  The  Soap  Creek  rapid  in  many  ways  was  not 
as  bad  as  some  we  had  gone  over  in  Cataract  Canyon, 
but  there  were  so  many  complications  that  we  hesitated 
a  long  time  before  coming  to  a  decision  that  we  would 
make  an  attempt  with  one  boat,  depending  on  our  good 
luck  which  had  brought  us  through  so  many  times,  as 
much  as  we  depended  on  our  handling  of  the  boat. 

It  was  planned  that  I  should  make  the  first  attempt, 
while  Emery  remained  with  the  motion-picture  camera 
just  below  the  rock  that  we  most  feared,  with  the  agree- 


A  NIGHT  OF  THRILLS  185 

ment  that  he  was  to  get  a  picture  of  the  upset  if  one 
occurred,  then  run  to  the  lower  end  of  the  rapid  with  a 
rope  and  a  life-preserver. 

After  adjusting  life-preservers  I  returned  to  my  boat 
and  was  soon  on  the  smooth  water  above  the  rapid,  hold- 
ing my  boat  to  prevent  her  from  being  swept  over  the 
rock  in  the  centre,  jockeying  for  the  proper  position  before 
I  would  allow  her  to  be  carried  into  the  current.  Once 
in,  it  seemed  but  an  instant  until  I  was  past  the  first 
rock,  and  almost  on  top  of  the  second.  I  was  pulling 
with  every  ounce  of  strength,  and  was  almost  clear  of 
the  rock  when  the  stern  touched  it  gently.  I  had  no 
idea  the  boat  would  overturn,  but  thought  she  would 
swing  around  the  rock,  heading  bow  first  into  the  stream, 
as  had  been  done  before  on  several  occasions.  Instead 
of  this  she  was  thrown  on  her  side  with  the  bottom  of  the 
boat  held  against  the  rock  while  I  found  myself  thrown 
out  of  the  boat,  but  hanging  to  the  gunwale.  Then  the 
boat  swung  around  and  instantly  turned  upright  while  I 
scrambled  back  into  the  cockpit.  Looking  over  my 
shoulder,  when  I  had  things  well  in  hand  again,  I  saw  my 
brother  was  still  at  the  camera,  white  as  a  sheet,  but 
turning  at  the  crank  as  if  our  entire  safety  depended  on  it. 
After  I  landed  the  water-filled  boat,  however,  he  confessed 
to  me  that  he  had  no  idea  whether  he  had  caught  the  upset 
or  not,  as  he  may  have  resumed  the  work  when  he  saw 
that  I  was  safe. 


1 86  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

Then  we  went  to  work  to  find  out  what  damage 
was  done.  First  we  found  that  the  case,  which  was 
supposed  to  be  waterproof,  had  a  half-inch  of  water 
inside,  but  fortunately  none  of  our  films  were  wet.  Some 
plates  which  we  had  just  exposed  and  which  were  still 
in  the  holders  were  soaked.  The  cameras  also  had 
suffered.  We  hurriedly  wiped  off  the  surplus  water 
and  piled  these  things  on  the  shore,  then  emptied  the 
boat  of  a  few  barrels  of  water. 

This  one  experience,  I  suppose,  should  have  been 
enough  for  me  with  that  rapid,  but  I  foolishly  insisted  on 
making  another  trial  at  it  with  the  Edith,  for  I  felt  sure  I 
could  make  it  if  I  only  had  another  chance,  and  the  fact 
that  Emery  had  the  empty  boat  at  the  end  of  the  rapid 
and  could  rescue  me  if  an  upset  occurred  greatly  lessened 
the  danger.  The  idea  of  making  a  portage,  with  the  loss 
of  nearly  a  day,  did  not  appeal  to  me. 

Emery  agreed  to  this  reluctantly,  and  advised  waiting 
until  morning,  for  it  was  growing  dusk,  but  with  the  re- 
mark "I  will  sleep  better  with  both  boats  tied  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  rapid,"  I  returned  to  the  Edith.  To 
make  a  long  story  short  I  missed  my  channel,  and  was 
carried  over  the  rock  in  the  centre  of  the  stream.  The 
Edith  had  bravely  mounted  the  first  wave,  and  was 
climbing  the  second  comber,  standing  almost  on  end,  it 
seemed  to  me,  when  the  wave  crested  over  the  stern, 
while  the  current  shooting  it  from  the  side  struck  the 


A  NIGHT  OF  THRILLS  187 

submerged  bow  and  she  fell  back  in  the  water  upside 
down.  It  was  all  done  so  quickly,  I  hardly  knew  what 
had  occurred,  but  found  myself  in  the  water,  whirling 
this  way  and  that,  holding  to  the  right  oar  with  a  death- 
grip.  I  wondered  if  the  strings  would  hold,  and  felt  a 
great  relief  when  the  oar  stopped  slipping  down,  —  as 
the  blade  reached  the  ring.  It  was  the  work  of  a  second 
to  climb  the  oar,  and  I  found  I  was  under  the  cockpit. 
Securing  a  firm  hold  on  the  gunwale,  which  had  helped 
us  so  often,  I  got  on  the  outside  of  the  boat,  thinking  I 
might  climb  on  top.  About  that  time  one  of  the  largest 
waves  broke  over  me,  knocking  me  on  the  side  of  the 
head  as  if  with  a  solid  object,  nearly  tearing  me  from 
the  boat.  After  that  I  kept  as  close  to  the  boat  as 
possible,  paddling  with  my  feet  to  keep  them  clear  of 
rocks.  Then  the  suction  of  the  boat  caught  them  and 
dragged  them  under,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  rapid  I  had 
all  I  could  do  to  hang  to  the  boat.  As  the  rapid  dwindled 
I  began  to  look  for  Emery,  but  was  unable  to  see  him, 
for  it  was  now  growing  quite  dark,  but  I  could  see  a  fire 
on  shore  that  he  had  built.  I  tried  to  call  but  was 
strangled  with  the  breaking  waves  ;  my  voice  was  drowned 
in  the  roar  of  the  rapid.  One  of  the  life-preservers  was 
torn  loose  and  floated  ahead  of  me.  Finally  I  got  an 
answer,  and  could  see  that  Emery  had  launched  his  boat. 
As  he  drew  near  I  told  him  to  save  the  life-preserver, 
which  he  did,  then  hurriedly  pulled  for  me.  I  remarked 
with  a  forced  laugh,  to  reassure  him, 


1 88  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

"Gee,  Emery,  this  water's  cold." 

He  failed  to  join  in  my  levity,  however,  and  said  with 
feeling,  "Thank  the  good  Lord  you  are  here !"  and 
down  in  my  heart  I  echoed  his  prayer  of  thanks. 

Somehow  I  had  lost  all  desire  to  successfully  navigate 
the  Soap  Creek  Rapid. 

But  our  troubles  were  not  entirely  over.  Emery 
had  pulled  me  in  after  a  futile  attempt  or  two,  with  a 
hold  sometimes  used  by  wrestlers,  linking  his  arm  in 
mine,  leaning  forward,  and  pulling  me  in  over  his  back. 
I  was  so  numbed  by  the  cold  that  I  could  do  little  to  help 
him,  after  what,  I  suppose,  was  about  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  struggle  in  the  water;  although  it  seemed  much 
longer  than  that  to  me. 

We  then  caught  the  Edith  and  attempted  to  turn  her 
over,  but  before  this  could  be  done  we  were  dragged 
into  the  next  rapid.  Emery  caught  up  the  oars,  while  I 
could  do  nothing  but  hold  to  the  upturned  boat,  half 
filled  with  water,  striving  to  drag  us  against  the  wall 
on  the  left  side  of  the  stream.  It  was  no  small  task  to 
handle  the  two  boats  in  this  way,  but  Emery  made  it; 
then,  when  he  thought  we  were  sure  of  a  landing,  the 
Edith  dragged  us  into  the  river  again.  Two  more  small 
rapids  were  run  as  we  peered  through  the  darkness  for 
a  landing.  Finally  we  reached  the  shore  over  a  mile 
below  the  Soap  Creek  Rapid.  We  were  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  stream  from  that  where  we  had  unloaded  the 


A  NIGHT  OF  THRILLS  189 

Defiance.     This  material  would  have  to  stay  where  it  was 
that  night. 

While  bailing  the  water  from  the  Edith  we  noticed  a 
peculiar  odour,  and  thought  for  a  while  that  it  might  be 
the  body  of  the  man  who  was  drowned  at  the  ferry,  but 
later  we  found  it  came  from  a  green  cottonwood  log 
that  had  become  water-soaked,  and  was  embedded  in 
the  sand,  close  to  our  landing.  It  was  Emery's  turn  to 
do  the  greater  part  of  the  camp  work  that  night,  while  I 
was  content  to  hug  the  fire,  wrapped  in  blankets,  waiting 
for  the  coffee  to  boil. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MARBLE  HALLS  AND  MARBLE  WALLS 

THERE  was  little  of  the  spectacular  in  our  work  the 
next  day  as  we  slowly  and  laboriously  dragged  an  empty 
boat  upstream  against  the  swift-running  current,  taking 
advantage  of  many  little  eddies,  but  finding  much  of  the 
shore  swept  clean.  I  had  ample  opportunity  to  ponder 
on  the  wisdom  of  my  attempt  to  save  time  by 
running  the  Soap  Creek  Rapid  instead  of  making 
a  portage,  while  we  carried  our  loads  over  the  immense 
boulders  that  banked  the  stream,  down  to  a  swift  piece 
of  water,  past  which  we  could  not  well  bring  the  boats ; 
or  while  we  developed  the  wet  plates  from  the  ruined 
plate-holders.  It  was  with  no  little  surprise  that  we 
found  all  the  plates,  except  a  few  which  were  not  uni- 
formly wet  and  developed  unevenly,  could  be  saved. 
It  took  a  day  and  a  half  to  complete  all  this  work. 

Marble  Canyon  was  now  beginning  to  narrow  up, 
with  a  steep,  boulder-covered  slope  on  either  side,  three 
or  four  hundred  feet  high ;  with  a  sheer  wall  of  dark  red 

limestone  of  equal  height   directly  above  that.     There 

190 


MARBLE  HALLS  AND  MARBLE  WALLS  191 

was  also  a  plateau  of  red  sandstone  and  distant  walls 
topped  with  light-coloured  rock,  the  same  formations  with 
which  we  were  familiar  in  the  Grand  Canyon.  The 
inner  gorge  had  narrowed  from  a  thousand  feet  or  more 
down  to  four  hundred  feet,  the  slope  at  the  river  was 
growing  steeper  and  gradually  disappearing,  and  each 
mile  of  travel  had  added  a  hundred  feet  or  more  to  the 
height  of  the  walls.  Soon  after  resuming  our  journey 
that  afternoon,  the  slope  disappeared  altogether,  and  the 
sheer  walls  came  down  close  to  the  water.  There  were 
few  places  where  one  could  climb  out,  had  we  desired  to  do 
so.  This  hard  limestone  wall,  which  Major  Powell 
had  named  the  marble  wall,  had  a  disconcerting  way  of 
weathering  very  smooth  and  sheer,  with  a  few  ledges 
and  fewer  breaks. 

We  made  a  short  run  that  day,  going  over  a  few  rapids, 
stopping  an  hour  to  make  some  pictures  where  an  im- 
mense rock  had  fallen  from  the  cliff  above  into  the 
middle  of  the  river  bed,  leaving  a  forty-foot  channel 
on  one  side,  and  scarcely  any  on  the  other.  Below  this 
we  found  a  rapid  so  much  like  the  Soap  Creek  Rapid  in 
appearance  that  a  portage  seemed  advisable.  It  was 
evening  when  we  got  the  Edith  to  the  lower  end  of  this 
rapid  after  almost  losing  her,  as  we  lined  her  down,  and 
she  was  wedged  under  a  sloping  rock  that  overhung 
the  rapid.  We  had  two  ropes,  one  at  either  end,  attached 
to  the  boat  in  this  case.  Emery  stood  below  the  rock 


192  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

ready  to  pull  her  in  when  once  past  the  rock.  There 
was  a  sickening  crackling  of  wood  as  the  deck  of  the 
boat  wedged  under  and  down  to  the  level  of  the  water, 
and  at  Emery's  call  I  released  the  boat,  throwing  the 
rope  into  the  river,  and  hurried  to  help  him.  He  was 
almost  dragged  into  the  water  as  the  boat  swung  around, 
fortunately  striking  against  a  sand-bank,  instead  of  the 
many  rocks  that  lined  the  shore.  We  were  working  with 
a  stream  different  from  the  Green  River,  we  found,  and 
the  Defiance  was  taken  from  the  water  the  next  day  and 
slowly  worked,  one  end  at  a  time,  over  the  rocks,  up  to  a 
level  sand-bank,  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet  above  the 
river.  Then  we  put  rollers  under  her,  and  worked  her 
down  past  the  rapid.  This  work  was  little  to  our  liking, 
for  the  boats,  now  pretty  well  water-soaked,  weighed 
considerably  more  than  their  original  five  hundred 
pounds'  weight. 

A  few  successful  plunges  soon  brought  back  our 
former  confidence,  and  we  continued  to  run  all  other 
rapids  that  presented  themselves.  This  afternoon  we 
passed  the  first  rapid  we  remembered  having  seen,  where 
we  could  not  land  at  its  head  before  running  it.  A  slightly 
higher  stage  of  water,  however,  would  have  made  many 
such  rapids.  Just  below  this  point  we  found  the  body 
of  a  bighorn  mountain-sheep  floating  in  an  eddy.  It  was 
impossible  to  tell  just  how  he  came  to  his  death,  There 
was  no  sign  of  any  great  fall  that  we  could  see.  He  had 


»T* 

l 

£  as 


!§ 


MARBLE  HALLS  AND  MARBLE  WALLS  193 

a  splendid  pair  of  horns,  which  we  would  have  liked  to 
have  had  at  home,  but  which  we  did  not  care  to  amputate 
and  carry  with  us. 

On  this  day's  travel,  we  passed  a  number  of  places 
where  the  marble  —  which  had  suggested  this  canyon's 
name  to  Major  Powell  —  appeared.  The  exposed  parts 
were  checked,  or  seamed,  and  apparently  would  have 
little  commercial  value.  We  passed  a  shallow  cave  or  two 
this  day,  then  found  another  cave  or  hole,  running  back 
about  fifteen  feet  in  the  wall,  so  suitable  for  a  camp  that 
we  could  not  refuse  the  temptation  to  stop,  although  we 
had  made  but  a  very  short  run  this  day.  The  high  water 
had  entered  it,  depositing  successive  layers  of  sand  on  the 
bottom,  rising  in  steps,  one  above  the  other,  making  con- 
venient shelves  for  maps  and  journals,  pots  and  pans ; 
while  little  shovelling  was  necessary  to  make  the  lower 
level  of  sand  fit  our  sleeping  bags.  A  number  of  small 
springs,  bubbling  from  the  walls  near  by,  gave  us  the  first 
clear  water  that  we  had  found  for  some  time,  and  a  pile 
of  driftwood  caught  in  the  rocks,  directly  in  front  of  our 
cave,  added  to  its  desirability  for  a  camp.  Firewood 
was  beginning  to  be  the  first  consideration  in  choosing 
a  camp,  for  in  many  places  the  high  water  had  swept  the 
shores  clean,  and  spots  which  might  otherwise  have 
made  splendid  camps  were  rendered  most  undesirable 
for  this  reason. 

So  Camp  Number  47  was  made  in  this  little  cave,  with 


194  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

a  violent  rapid  directly  beneath  us,  making  a  din  that 
might  be  anything  but  reassuring,  were  we  not  pretty 
well  accustomed  to  it  by  this  time.  The  next  day, 
Sunday,  November  the  I2th,  was  passed  in  the  same 
spot.  The  air  turned  decidedly  cold  this  day,  a  hard 
wind  swept  up  the  river,  the  sky  above  was  overcast, 
and  we  had  little  doubt  that  snow  was  falling  on  the 
Kaibab  Plateau,  which  we  could  not  see,  but  which  we 
knew  rose  to  the  height  of  5500  feet  above  us,  but  a  few 
miles  to  the  northwest  of  this  camp.  The  sheer  walls 
directly  above  the  river  dropped  down  considerably 
at  this  point,  and  a  break  or  two  permitted  us  to  climb  up 
as  high  as  we  cared  to  go  on  the  red  sandstone  wall, 
which  had  lost  its  level  character,  and  now  rose  in  a 
steep  slope  over  a  thousand  feet  above  us.  These  walls, 
with  no  growth  but  the  tussocks  of  bunch-grass,  the 
prickly  pear  cactus,  the  mescal,  and  the  yucca,  were  more 
destitute  of  growth  than  any  we  had  seen,  excepting 
the  upper  end  of  Desolation  Canyon,  even  the  upper  walls 
lacking  the  growth  of  pinon  pine  and  juniper  which  we 
usually  associated  with  them.  We  were  now  directly 
below  the  Painted  Desert,  which  lay  to  the  left  of  the 
canyon,  and  no  doubt  a  similar  desert  was  on  the  right- 
hand  side,  in  the  form  of  a  narrow  plateau ;  but  we  had 
no  means  of  knowing  just  how  wide  or  narrow  this  was, 
before  it  raised  again  to  the  forest-covered  Buckskin 
Mountains  and  the  Kaibab  Plateau. 


MARBLE  HALLS  AND  MARBLE  WALLS  195 

The  rapid  below  our  camp  was  just  as  bad  as  its  roar, 
we  found,  on  running  it  the  next  day.  Most  of  the  de- 
scent was  confined  to  a  violent  drop  at  the  very  beginning, 
but  there  was  a  lot  of  complicated  water  in  the  big  waves 
that  followed.  Emery  was  thrown  forward  in  his  boat, 
when  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  chute,  striking  his 
mouth,  and  bruising  his  hands,  as  he  dropped  his  oars 
and  caught  the  bulkhead.  An  extra  oar  was  wrenched 
from  the  boat  and  disappeared  in  the  white  water,  or 
foam  that  was  as  nearly  white  as  muddy  water  ever  gets. 
I  nearly  upset,  and  broke  the  pin  of  a  rowlock,  the 
released  oar  being  jerked  from  my  hand,  sending  me 
scrambling  for  an  extra  oar,  when  the  boat  swept  into  a 
swift  whirlpool.  Emery  caught  my  oar  as  it  whirled 
past  him ;  the  other  was  found  a  half-mile  below  in  an 
eddy. 

Some  of  the  rapids  in  the  centre  of  Marble  Canyon 
were  not  more  than  75  feet  wide,  with  a  corresponding 
violence  of  water.  The  whirlpools  in  the  wider  channels 
below  these  rapids  were  the  strongest  we  had  seen,  and 
had  a  most  annoying  way  of  holding  the  boats  just  when 
we  thought  we  had  evaded  them.  Sometimes  there  would 
be  a  whirlpool  on  either  side,  with  a  sharply  denned 
line  of  division  in  the  centre,  along  which  it  was  next  to 
impossible  to  go  without  being  caught  on  one  side  or 
the  other.  These  whirlpools  were  seldom  regarded  as 
serious,  for  our  boats  were  too  wide  and  heavy  to  be 


196  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

readily  overturned  in  them,  although  we  saved  ourselves 
more  than  one  upset  by  throwing  our  weight  to  the  op- 
posite side.  A  small  boat  would  have  upset.  On  two 
occasions  we  were  caught  in  small  whirlpools,  where  a 
point  of  rock  projected  from  the  shore,  turning  upstream, 
splitting  a  swift  current  and  making  a  very  rapid  and 
difficult  whirl,  where  the  boats  were  nearly  smashed 
against  the  walls.  Below  all  such  places  were  the  familiar 
boils,  or  fountains,  or  shoots,  as  they  are  variously  termed. 
These  are  the  lower  end  of  the  whirlpools,  emerging  often 
from  the  quiet  water  below  a  rapid  with  nearly  as  much 
violence  as  they  disappeared  in  the  rapids  above.  These 
would  often  rise  when  least  expected,  breaking  under  the 
boats,  the  swift  upshoot  of  water  giving  them  such  a  rap 
that  we  sometimes  thought  we  had  struck  a  rock.  If  one 
happened  to  be  in  the  centre  of  a  boil  when  it  broke,  it 
would  send  them  sailing  down  the  stream  many  times 
faster  than  the  regular  current  was  travelling,  rowing 
the  boat  having  about  as  little  effect  on  determining  its 
course  as  if  it  was  loaded  on  a  flat-car.  The  other  boat, 
at  times  just  a  few  feet  away,  might  be  caught  in  the 
whirlpools  that  formed  at  the  edge  of  the  fountains, 
often  opening  up  suddenly  under  one  side  of  the  boat, 
causing  it  to  dip  until  the  water  poured  over  the  edge, 
holding  it  to  that  one  spot  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  row 
away. 

Then  we  would  strike  peaceful  water  again,  a  mile  or 


WALLS   OF    iMARBLE    CANYON. 


Copyright  by  Kolb  Bros. 


MARBLE  HALLS  AND  MARBLE  WALLS  197 

two  perhaps,  so  quiet  that  a  thin  covering  of  clear  water 
spread  over  the  top  of  the  silt-laden  pool  beneath,  re- 
flecting the  tinted  walls  and  the  turquoise  sky  beneath  its 
limpid  surface.  Gems  of  sunlight  sparkled  on  its  bosom 
and  scintillated  in  the  ripples  left  behind  by  the  oars. 
When  seated  with  our  backs  to  the  strongest  light,  and 
when  glancing  along  the  top  of  such  a  pool  instead  of 
into  it,  the  mirror-like  surface  gave  way  to  a  peculiar 
purplish  tone  which  seemed  to  cover  the  pool,  so  that  one 
would  forget  it  was  roily  water,  and  saw  only  the  iridescent 
beauty  of  a  mountain  stream. 

The  wonderful  marble  walls  —  better  known  to  the 
miners  as  the  blue  limestone  walls  —  now  rose  from  the 
water's  edge  to  a  height  of  eight  or  nine  hundred  feet, 
the  surface  of  its  light  blue-gray  rock  being  stained 
to  a  dark  red,  or  a  light  red  as  the  case  might  be,  by  the 
iron  from  the  sandstone  walls  above.  There  were  a 
thousand  feet  of  these  sandstone  layers,  red  in  all  its 
varying  hues,  capped  by  the  four-hundred  foot  cross- 
bedded  sandstone  wall,  breaking  sheer,  ranging  in  tone 
from  a  soft  buff  to  a  golden  yellow,  with  a  bloom,  or  glow, 
as  though  illuminated  from  within.  As  we  proceeded, 
another  layer  could  be  seen  above  this,  the  same  limestone 
and  with  the  same  fossils  —  an  examination  of  the  rock- 
slides  told  us  —  as  the  topmost  formation  at  the  Grand 
Canyon.  This  was  not  unlike  the  cross-bedded  sand- 
stone in  colour,  but  lacked  its  warmth  and  richness  of  tint. 


198  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

A  close  examination  of  the  rocks  revealed  many  colours, 
that  figured  but  little  in  the  grand  colour  scheme  of  the 
canyon  as  a  whole  —  the  detailed  ornamentation  of 
the  magnificent  rock  structure.  A  fracture  of  wall 
would  show  the  true  colour  of  the  rock,  beneath  the  stain ; 
lime  crystals  studded  its  surface,  like  gems  glinting 
in  the  sunlight;  beautifully  tinted  jasper,  resembling  the 
petrified  wood  found  in  another  part  of  Arizona,  was 
embedded  in  the  marble  wall,  —  usually  at  the  point  of 
contact  with  another  formation,  —  polished  by  the  sands 
of  the  turbid  river. 

All  this  told  us  that  we  were  coming  into  our  own. 
Four  of  the  seven  notable  divisions  of  rock  strata  found 
in  the  Grand  Canyon  were  now  represented  in  Marble 
Canyon,  and  soon  the  green  shale,  which  underlies  the 
blue  limestone,  began  to  crop  out  by  the  river  as  the  walls 
grew  higher  and  the  stream  cut  deeper. 

One  turn  of  the  canyon  revealed  a  break  where  Stanton 
hid  his  provisions  in  a  cave  —  after  a  second  fatality  in 
which  two  more  of  this  ill-fated  expedition  lost  their 
lives  —  and  climbed  out  on  top.  Afterwards  he  re-out- 
fitted with  heavier  boats  and  tackled  the  stream  again. 

Just  below  this  break  the  scene  changed  as  we  made 
a  sharp  turn  to  the  left.  Vasey's  Paradise  —  named  by 
Major  Powell  after  Dr.  Geo.  W.  Vasey,  botanist  of  the 
United  States  Department  of  Agriculture  —  was  dis- 
closed to  view.  Beautiful  streams  gushed  from  rounded 


MARBLE  HALLS  AND  MARBLE  WALLS  199 

holes,  fifty  yards  above  the  river.  The  rock  walls  re- 
minded one  of  an  ivy-covered  castle  of  old  England, 
guarded  by  a  moat  uncrossed  by  any  drawbridge.  It 
was  trellised  with  vines,  maidenhair  ferns,  and  water-moss 
making  a  vivid  green  background  for  the  golden  yellow 
and  burnished  copper  leaves  which  still  clung  to  some 
small  cottonwood  trees  —  the  only  trees  we  had  seen  in 
Marble  Canyon. 

In  our  haste  to  push  on,  we  left  the  brass  motion- 
picture  tripod  head  on  an  island,  from  which  we  pictured 
this  lovely  spot.  A  rapid  was  put  behind  us  before  we 
noticed  our  loss,  and  there  was  no  going  back  then. 

Another  turn  revealed  a  Gothic  arch,  or  grotto,  carved 
at  the  bend  of  the  wall  by  the  high  water,  with  an  overhang 
of  more  than  a  hundred  feet,  and  a  height  nearly  as  great, 
for  the  flood  waters  ran  above  the  hundred-foot  stage  in 
this  narrow  walled  section.  Then  came  a  gloomy,  prison- 
like  formation,  with  a  "Bridge  of  Sighs"  two  hundred 
feet  above  a  gulch,  connecting  the  dungeon  to  the  per- 
pendicular wall  beyond ;  and  with  a  hundred  cave-like 
openings  in  its  sheer  sides  like  small  windows,  admitting 
a  little  daylight  into  its  dark  interior.  The  sullen  boom 
of  a  rapid  around  the  turn  sounded  like  the  march  of  an 
army  coming  up  the  gorge,  so  we  climbed  back  into  our 
boats  after  a  vain  attempt  to  climb  up  to  some  of  the 
caves,  and  advanced  to  meet  our  foe.  This  rapid  -  -  the 
tenth  for  the  day  —  while  it  was  clear  of  rocks,  had  an 


200  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

abrupt  drop,  with  powerful  waves  which  did  all  sorts  of 
things  to  us  and  to  our  boats  ;  breaking  a  rowlock  and  the 
four  pieces  of  line  which  held  it,  and  flooding  us  both  with 
a  ton  of  water.  We  went  into  camp  a  short  distance  be- 
low this,  in  a  narrow  box  canyon  running  back  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  river,  a  gloomy,  cathedral-like  interior, 
with  sheer  walls  rising  several  hundred  feet  on  three 
sides  of  us,  and  with  the  top  of  the  south  wall  2500  feet 
above  us  in  plain  sight  of  our  camp,  the  one  camp  in 
Marble  Canyon  where  our  sleep  was  undisturbed  by 
the  roar  of  a  rapid.  But  instead  of  the  roar  of  a  rapid,  a 
howling  wind  swept  down  from  the  Painted  Desert 
above,  piling  the  mingled  desert  sands  and  river  sands 
about  our  beds,  scattering  our  camp  material  over  the 
bottom  of  the  narrow  gorge. 

Soon  after  this  camp  —  the  fourth  and  the  last  in 
Marble  Canyon  —  was  left  behind  us,  the  walls  began  to 
widen  out,  especially  on  the  north-northwest,  and  by  noon 
we  had  passed  from  the  narrow,  direct  canyon,  into  one 
with  slopes  and  plateaus  breaking  the  sheer  walls,  the  wall 
on  the  left  or  southeast  side  being  much  the  lower  of  the 
two,  and  more  nearly  perpendicular,  rising  to  a  height  of 
3200  feet,  while  the  northwest  side  lifted  up  to  the  Kaibab 
Plateau,  one  point  —  miles  back  from  the  river  —  rising 
6000  feet  above  us. 

We  halted  at  noon  beside  the  Nancoweep  Valley,  a 
wide  tributary  heading  many  miles  back  in  the  plateau  on 


MARBLE   HALLS  AND  MARBLE  WALLS  2OI 

the  right,  with  a  ramified  series  of  canyons  running  into 
it,  and  with  great  expanses  of  sage-covered  flats  between. 
Deer  tracks  were  found  on  these  flats,  deer  which  came 
down  from  the  forest  of  the  Buckskin  Mountains.  This 
was  the  point  selected  by  Major  Powell  for  the  construc- 
tion of  a  trail  when  he  returned  from  his  voyage  of  ex- 
ploration to  study  the  geology  of  this  section.  The 
trail,  although  neglected  for  many  years,  is  still  used  by 
prospectors  from  Kanab,  Utah,  who  make  a  yearly  trip 
into  the  canyons  to  do  some  work  on  a  mineral  ledge 
a  few  miles  below  here. 

What  a  glorious,  exhilarating  run  we  had  that  day  ! 
From  here  to  the  end  of  Marble  Canyon  the  rapids  were 
almost  continuous,  with  few  violent  drops  and  seldom 
broken  by  the  usual  quiet  pools.  It  was  the  finest  kind 
of  water  for  fast  travelling,  and  we  made  the  most  of  it. 
The  only  previous  run  we  had  made  that  could  in  any  way 
compare  with  it  was  in  Whirlpool  and  Split  Mountain 
canyons,  when  the  high  water  was  on.  As  we  travelled, 
occasional  glimpses  were  had  of  familiar  places  on  Green- 
land Point  —  that  thirty-mile  peninsula  of  the  Kaibab 
Plateau  extending  between  Marble  Canyon  and  the 
Grand  Canyon  —  where  we  had  gone  deer-hunting,  or  on 
photographic  expeditions  with  Rust. 

Another  valley  from  the  right  was  passed,  then  a  peak 
rose  before  us  close  to  the  river,  with  its  flat  top  rising 
to  a  height  equal  to  the  south  wall.  This  was  Chuar 


202  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

Butte.  Once  more  we  were  in  a  narrow  canyon,  narrowed 
by  this  peak,  but  a  canyon  just  the  same.  Soon  we  were 
below  a  wall  we  once  had  photographed  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Little  Colorado ;  then  the  stream  itself  came  in 
view  and  we  were  soon  anchored  beside  it.  This  was  the 
beginning  of  the  Grand  Canyon. 


Copyright  hy  Kolb  Bros. 
APPROACHING  THE   GRAND   CANYON.     NOTE   BOAT. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SIGNALLING    OUR    CANYON    HOME 

How  long  we  had  waited  for  this  view  !  How  many 
memories  it  recalled  —  and  how  different  it  seemed  to  our 
previous  visit  there  !  Then,  the  high  water  was  on,  and 
the  turquoise-tinted  mineral  water  of  the  Colorado 
Chiquito  was  backed  up  by  the  turbid  flood  waters  of 
the  Rio  Colorado,  forty  feet  or  more  above  the  present 
level.  Now  it  was  a  rapid  stream,  throwing  itself  with 
wild  abandon  over  the  rocks  and  into  the  Colorado. 
There  was  the  same  deserted  stone  hut,  built  by  a 
French  prospector,  many  years  before,  and  a  plough  that 
he  had  packed  in  over  a  thirty-mile  trail  —  the  most  diffi- 
cult one  in  all  this  rugged  region  !  There  was  the  little 
grass-plot  where  we  pastured  the  burro,  while  we  made  a 
fifteen-mile  walk  up  the  bed  of  this  narrow  canyon  ! 
What  a  hard,  hot  journey  it  had  been  !  A  year  and  a  half 
ago  we  sat  on  that  rock,  and  talked  of  the  day  when  we 
should  come  through  here  in  boats  !  Even  then  we  talked 
of  building  a  raft,  and  of  loading  the  burro  on  it  for  a  spin 

on  the  flood  waters.        Lucky  for  us  and  for  the  burro 

203 


204  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

that  we  didn't !  We  understand  the  temper  of  these 
waters  now. 

Cape  Desolation,  a  point  of  the  Painted  Desert  on 
the  west  side  of  the  Little  Colorado,  was  almost  directly 
above  us,  320x3  feet  high.  Chuar  Butte,  equally  as  high 
and  with  walls  just  as  nearly  perpendicular,  extended 
on  into  the  Grand  Canyon  on  the  right  side,  making  the 
narrowest  canyon  of  this  depth  that  we  had  seen.  The 
Navajo  reservation  terminated  at  the  Little  Colorado, 
although  nothing  but  the  maps  indicated  that  we  had 
passed  from  the  land  of  the  Red  man  to  that  of  the  White. 
Both  were  equally  desolate,  and  equally  wonderful. 
With  the  entrance  of  the  new  stream  the  canyon  changes 
its  southwest  trend  and  turns  directly  west,  and  continues 
to  hold  to  this  general  direction  until  the  northwest 
corner  of  Arizona  is  reached. 

But  we  must  be  on  again  !  Soon  familiar  segregated 
peaks  in  the  Grand  Canyon  began  to  appear.  There 
was  Wotan's  Throne  on  the  right,  and  the  "Copper 
Mine  Mesa"  on  the  left.  Three  or  four  miles  below 
the  junction  a  four-hundred  foot  perpendicular  wall 
rose  above  us.  The  burro,  on  our  previous  visit,  was 
almost  shoved  off  that  cliff  when  the  pack  caught  on  a 
rock,  and  was  only  saved  by  strenuous  pulling  on  the 
neck-rope  and  pack  harness.  Soon  we  passed  some 
tunnels  on  both  sides  of  the  river  where  the  Mormon 
miners  had  tapped  a  copper  ledge.  At  4.15  P.M.  we 


SIGNALLING  OUR  CANYON  HOME  205 

were  at  the  end  of  the  Tanner  Trail,  the  outlet  of  the  Little 
Colorado  Trail  to  the  rim  above.  It  had  taken  seven 
hours  of  toil  to  cover  the  same  ground  we  now  sped  over 
in  an  hour  and  a  quarter.  Major  Powell,  in  1872, 
found  here  the  remnant  of  a  very  small  hut  built  of  mes- 
quite  logs,  but  whether  the  remains  of  an  Indian's  or 
white  man's  shelter  cannot  be  stated.  The  trail,  without 
doubt,  was  used  by  the  Indians  before  the  white  man  in- 
vaded this  region. 

The  canyon  had  changed  again  from  one  which  was 
very  narrow  to  one  much  more  complex,  greater,  and 
grander.  The  walls  on  top  were  many  miles  apart; 
Comanche  Point,  to  our  left,  was  over  4000  feet  above  us  ; 
Desert  View,  Moran  Point,  and  other  points  on  the 
south  rim  were  even  higher.  On  the  right  we  could 
see  an  arch  near  Cape  Final  on  Greenland  Point,  over 
5000  feet  up,  that  we  had  photographed,  from  the  top, 
a  few  years  before.  Pagoda-shaped  temples  —  the  forma- 
tion so  typical  of  the  Grand  Canyon  —  clustered  on  all 
sides.  The  upper  walls  were  similar  in  tint  to  those 
in  Marble  Canyon,  but  here  at  the  river  was  a  new  forma- 
tion ;  the  algonkian,  composed  of  thousands  of  brilliantly 
coloured  bands  of  rock,  standing  at  an  angle — the  one 
irregularity  to  the  uniform  layers  of  rock  —  a  remnant 
of  thousands  of  feet  of  rock  which  once  covered  this 
region,  then  was  planed  away  before  the  other  deposits 
were  placed.  All  about  us,  close  to  the  river,  was  a 


206  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

deep,  soft  sand  formed  by  the  disintegration  of  the  rocks 
above,  as  brilliantly  coloured  as  the  rocks  from  which 
they  came.  What  had  been  a  very  narrow  stream 
above  here  spread  out  over  a  thousand  feet  wide,  ran 
with  a  good  current,  and  seemed  to  be  anything  but  a 
shallow  stream  at  that. 

We  had  travelled  far  that  day  but  still  sped  on,  —  with 
a  few  rapids  which  did  not  retard,  but  rather  helped  us 
on  our  way,  and  with  a  good  current  between  these 
rapids,  —  only  stopping  to  camp  when  a  three-hundred 
foot  wall  rose  sheer  from  the  river's  edge,  bringing  to  an 
end  our  basin-like  river  bottom,  where  one  could  walk 
out  on  either  side.  It  was  not  necessary  to  hunt  for 
driftwood  this  evening,  for  a  thicket  of  mesquite  —  the 
best  of  all  wood  for  a  camp-fire  —  grew  out  of  the  sand- 
dunes,  and  some  half-covered  dead  logs  were  unearthed 
from  the  drifted  sand,  and  soon  reduced  to  glowing  coals. 

Meanwhile,  we  were  enjoying  one  of  those  remarkable 
Arizona  desert  sunsets.  Ominous  clouds  had  been 
gathering  in  the  afternoon,  rising  from  the  southwest, 
drifting  across  the  canyon,  and  piling  up  against  the 
north  wall.  A  few  fleecy  clouds  in  the  west  partially 
obscured  the  sun  until  it  neared  the  horizon,  then  a 
shaft  of  sunlight  broke  through  once  more,  telegraphing 
its  approach  long  before  it  reached  us,  the  rays  being 
visibly  hurled  through  space  like  a  javelin,  or  a  lightning 
bolt,  striking  peak  after  peak  so  that  one  almost  imagined 


SIGNALLING  OUR  CANYON  HOME  207 

they  would  hear  the  thunder  roll.  A  yellow  flame 
covered  the  western  sky,  to  be  succeeded  in  a  few  minutes 
by  a  crimson  glow.  The  sharply  denned  colours  of  the 
different  layers  of  rock  had  merged  and  softened,  as  the 
sun  dropped  from  sight;  purple  shadows  crept  into  the 
cavernous  depths,  while  shafts  of  gold  shot  to  the  very 
tiptop  of  the  peaks,  or  threw  their  shadows  like  silhouettes 
on  the  wall  beyond.  Then  the  scene  shifted  again,  and  it 
was  all  blood-red,  reflecting  from  the  sky  and  staining 
the  rocks  below,  so  that  distant  wall  and  sky  merged, 
with  little  to  show  where  the  one  ended  and  the  other 
began.  That  beautiful  haze,  which  tints,  but  does  not 
obscure,  enshrouded  the  temples  and  spires,  changing 
from  heliotrope  to  lavender,  from  lavender  to  deepest 
purple ;  there  was  a  departing  flare  of  flame  like  the  col- 
lapse of  a  burning  building;  a  few  clouds  in  the  zenith, 
torn  by  the  winds  so  that  they  resembled  the  craters 
of  the  moon,  were  tinted  for  an  instant  around  the  crater's 
rims  ;  the  clouds  faded  to  a  dove-like  gray ;  they  darkened ; 
the  gray  disappeared ;  the  purple  crept  from  the  canyon 
into  the  arched  dome  overhead ;  the  day  was  ended, 
twilight  passed,  and  darkness  settled  over  all. 

We  sat  silently  by  the  fire  for  a  few  minutes,  then 
rose  and  resumed  our  evening's  work.  This  camp 
was  at  a  point  that  could  be  seen  from  the  Grand  View 
hotel,  fourteen  miles  from  our  home.  We  talked  of 
building  a  signal  fire  on  the  promontory  above  the  camp, 


208  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

knowing  that  the  news  would  be  telephoned  to  our 
home  if  the  fire  was  seen.  But  we  gave  up  the  plan. 
Although  less  than  twenty  miles  from  Bright  Angel 
Trail,  we  were  not  safely  through  by  any  means.  Two 
boats  had  been  wrecked  or  lost  in  different  rapids  less  than 
six  miles  from  this  camp.  The  forty-foot  fall  in  the 
Hance  or  Red  Canyon  Rapid  was  three  miles  below  us ; 
the  Sockdologer,  the  Grapevine,  and  other  rapids  nearly 
as  large  followed  those ;  we  might  be  no  more  fortunate 
than  the  others,  and  a  delay  after  once  giving  a  signal 
would  cause  more  anxiety  than  no  signal  at  all  we 
thought,  and  the  fire  was  not  built. 

Particular  attention  was  paid  to  the  loading  of  the 
boats  the  next  morning.  The  moving-picture  film  was 
tucked  in  the  toes  of  our  sleeping  bags,  and  the  protecting 
bags  were  carefully  laced.  We  were  not  going  to  take 
any  chances  in  this  next  plunge  —  the  much-talked-of 
entrance  to  the  granite  gorge.  A  half-hour's  run  and  a 
dash  through  one  violent  rapid  landed  us  at  the  end  of 
the  Hance  Trail  —  unused  for  tourist  travel  for  several 
years  —  with  a  few  torn  and  tattered  tents  back  in 
the  side  canyon  down  which  the  trail  wound  its  way. 
We  half  hoped  that  we  would  find  some  of  the  prospec- 
tors who  make  this  section  their  winter  home  either 
at  the  Tanner  or  the  Hance  Trail,  but  there  was  no  sign  of 
recent  visitors  at  either  place,  unless  it  was  the  numerous 
burro  tracks  in  the  sand.  These  tracks  were  doubtless 


SIGNALLING  OUR  CANYON  HOME  209 

made  by  some  of  the  many  wild  burros  that  roam  all 
over  the  lower  plateaus  in  the  upper  end  of  the  Grand 
Canyon. 

After  a  careful  inspection  of  the  Hance  Rapid  we 
were  glad  the  signal  fire  was  not  built.  It  was  a  nasty 
rapid.  While  reading  over  our  notes  one  evening  we 
were  amused  to  find  that  we  had  catalogued  different 
rapids  with  an  equal  amount  of  fall  as  "good,"  "bad,"  or 
"nasty,"  the  difference  depending  nearly  altogether  on 
the  rocks  in  the  rapids.  The  "good  rapids"  were  noth- 
ing but  a  descent  of  "big  water,"  with  great  waves,  —  for 
which  we  cared  little,  but  rather  enjoyed  if  it  was  not 
too  cold,  —  and  with  no  danger  from  rocks;  the  "bad 
rapids"  contained  rocks,  and  twisting  channels,  but 
with  half  a  chance  of  getting  through.  A  nasty  rapid 
was  filled  with  rocks,  many  of  them  so  concealed  in  the 
foam  that  it  was  often  next  to  impossible  to  tell  if  rocks 
were  there  or  not,  and  in  which  there  was  little  chance 
of  running  through  without  smashing  a  boat.  The 
Hance  Rapid  was  such  a  one. 

Such  a  complication  of  twisted  channels  and  pro- 
truding rocks  we  had  not  seen  unless  it  was  at  Hell's 
Half  Mile.  It  meant  a  portage  —  nothing  less  —  the 
second  since  leaving  that  other  rapid  in  Lodore.  So 
we  went  to  work,  carrying  our  duffle  across  deep,  soft 
sand-dunes,  down  to  the  middle  of  the  rapid,  where 
it  quieted  for  a  hundred  yards  before  it  made  the  final 


210  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

plunge.  The  gathering  dusk  of  evening  found  all  ma- 
terial and  one  boat  at  this  spot,  with  the  other  one  at 
the  head  of  the  rapid,  to  be  portaged  the  next  day. 
But  we  did  not  portage  this  boat.  A  good  night's  rest, 
and  the  safeguard  of  a  boat  at  the  bottom  of  the  plunge 
made  it  look  much  less  dangerous,  and  five  minutes  after 
breakfast  was  finished,  this  boat  was  beside  its  mate, 
and  we  had  a  reel  of  film  which  we  hoped  would  show 
just  how  we  successfully  ran  this  difficult  rapid.  While 
going  over  the  second  section,  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  river,  Emery  was  thrown  out  of  his  boat  for  an 
instant  when  the  Edith  touched  a  rock  in  a  twenty-five 
mile  an  hour  current,  similar  to  my  first  upset  in  the 
Soap  Creek  Rapid  —  the  old  story :  out  again ;  in 
again ;  on  again  —  landing  in  safety  at  the  end  of  the 
rapid  not  one  whit  the  worse  for  the  spill. 

This  rapid  marks  the  place  where  the  granite,  or  ig- 
neous rock,  intrudes,  rising  at  a  sharp  angle,  sloping 
upward  down  the  stream,  reaching  the  height  of  1300  feet 
about  one  mile  below.  It  marks  the  end  of  the  large 
deposit  of  algonkian.  The  granite,  when  it  attains  its 
highest  point,  is  covered  with  a  2OO-foot  layer  of 
sedimentary  rock  called  the  tonto  sandstone.  The 
top  of  this  formation  is  exposed  by  a  plateau  from  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  to  three  miles  in  width,  on  either 
side  of  the  granite  gorge;  the  same  walls  which  were 
found  in  Marble  Canyon  rise  above  this.  The  temples 


SIGNALLING  OUR  CANYON  HOME  211 

which  are  scattered  through  the  canyon  —  equal  in 
height,  in  many  cases,  to  the  walls — have  their  foun- 
dation on  this  plateau.  These  peaks  contain  the  same 
stratified  rock  with  a  uniform  thickness  whether  in 
peak  or  wall,  with  little  displacement  and  little  sign 
of  violent  uplift,  nearly  all  this  canyon  being  the  work  of 
erosion :  5000  feet  from  the  rim  to  the  river ;  the  edges 
of  six  great  layers  of  sedimentary  rock  laid  bare  and  with 
a  narrow  i3OO-foot  gorge  through  the  igneous  rock 
below  —  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona. 

The  granite  gorge  seemed  to  us  to  be  the  one  place 
of  all  others  that  we  had  seen  on  this  trip  that  would 
cause  one  to  hesitate  a  long  time  before  entering,  if  noth- 
ing definite  was  known  of  its  nature.  Another  person 
might  have  felt  the  same  way  of  the  canyons  we  had 
passed,  Lodore  or  Marble  Canyon,  for  instance.  A 
great  deal  depends  on  the  nerves  and  digestion,  no  doubt ; 
and  the  same  person  would  look  at  it  in  a  different  light 
at  different  times,  as  we  found  from  our  own  experiences. 
Our  digestions  were  in  excellent  condition  just  at  that 
time,  and  we  were  nerved  up  by  the  thought  that  we 
were  going  "to  the  plate  for  a  home  run"  if  possible,  yet 
the  granite  gorge  had  a  decidedly  sinister  look.  The  walls, 
while  not  sheer,  were  nearly  so ;  they  might  be  climbed  in 
many  places  to  the  top  of  the  granite ;  but  the  tonto  sand- 
stone wall  nearly  always  overhangs  this,  breaks  sheer, 
and  seldom  affords  an  outlet  to  the  plateaus  above,  except 


212  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

where  lateral  canyons  cut  through.  The  rocks  are  very 
dark,  with  dikes  of  quartz,  and  with  twisting  seams  of  red 
and  black  granite,  the  great  body  of  rock  being  made  up 
of  decomposed  micaceous  schists  and  gneiss,  a  treacher- 
ous material  to  climb.  The  entrance  to  this  gorge  is 
made  on  a  quiet  pool  with  no  shore  on  either  side  after 
once  well  in. 

But  several  parties  had  been  through  since  Major 
Powell  made  his  initial  trip,  so  we  did  not  hesitate,  but 
pushed  on  with  the  current.  Now  we  could  truly  say 
that  we  were  going  home.  The  Hance  Rapid  was  be- 
hind us ;  Bright  Angel  Creek  was  about  twelve  miles 
away.  Soon  we  were  in  the  deepest  part  of  the  gorge. 
Great  dikes  and  uplifts  of  jagged  rocks  towered  above 
us ;  and  up,  up,  up,  lifted  the  other  walls  above  that. 
Bissell  Point,  on  the  very  top,  could  plainly  be  seen  from 
our  quiet  pool. 

Then  came  a  series  of  rapids  quite  different  from  the 
Hance  Rapid,  and  many  others  found  above.  Those 
others  were  usually  caused  in  part  by  the  detritus  or  de- 
posit from  side  canyons,  which  dammed  the  stream,  and 
what  might  be  a  swift  stream,  with  a  continuous  drop, 
was  transformed  to  a  succession  of  mill-ponds  and  cata- 
racts, or  rapids.  In  nearly  every  case,  in  low  water  such 
as  we  were  travelling  on,  the  deposit  made  a  shore  on 
which  we  could  land  and  inspect  the  rapid  from  below. 
The  swift  water  invariably  makes  a  narrow  channel 


SIGNALLING  OUR  CANYON  HOME  213 

if  it  has  no  obstruction  in  its  way ;  it  is  the  quiet  stream 
that  makes  a  wide  channel.  But  the  rapids  we  found 
this  day  were  nearly  all  different.  They  were  seldom 
caused  by  great  deposits  of  rock,  but  appeared  to  be 
formed  by  a  dike  or  ledge  of  hard  rock  rising  from  the 
softer  rock  —  the  same  intrusion  being  sometimes  found 
on  both  sides  of  the  stream  —  forming  a  dam  the  full 
width  of  the  channel,  over  which  the  water  made  a  swift 
descent,  with  a  long  line  of  interference  waves  below. 
But  for  a  cold  wind  which  swept  up  the  stream,  this  style 
of  rapid  was  more  to  our  fancy.  These  were  "good 
rapids,"  the  "best"  we  had  seen.  There  were  few 
rocks  to  avoid.  Some  of  the  rapids  were  violent,  but 
careful  handling  took  us  past  every  danger.  There 
was  little  chance  to  make  a  portage  at  several  of  these 
places  had  we  desired  to  do  so.  We  gave  them  but  a 
glance  from  the  decks  of  the  boats,  then  dropped  into 
them.  In  one  instance  I  saw  the  Edith  literally  shoot 
through  a  wave  bow  first,  both  ends  of  the  boat  being 
visible,  while  her  captain  was  buried  in  the  foam. 

We  had  learned  to  discriminate  by  its  noise,  long 
before  we  could  see  a  rapid,  whether  it  was  filled  with 
rocks,  or  was  merely  a  descent  of  big  water.  The  latter, 
often  just  as  impressive  as  the  former,  had  a  sullen,  steady 
boom ;  the  rocky  rapids  had  the  same  sound,  punctuated 
by  another  sound,  like  the  crack  of  regiments  of  musketry. 
All  were  greatly  magnified  in  sound  by  the  narrow,  echo- 


214  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

ing  walls.  We  became  so  accustomed  to  this  noise  that 
we  almost  forgot  it  was  there,  and  it  was  only  after  the 
long,  quiet  stretches  that  the  noise  was  noticed.  In  a 
few  instances  only  we  noticed  the  shattering  vibration 
of  air  that  is  associated  with  waterfalls.  Still  there  is 
noise  enough  in  many  rapids  so  that  their  boom  can  be 
heard  several  miles  away  from  the  top  of  the  canyons. 

Guided  by  these  sounds,  and  aided  by  our  method  of 
holding  the  boat  in  mid-stream,  while  making  a  recon- 
noissance,  we  were  quite  well  aware  of  what  we  were 
likely  to  find  before  we  anchored  above  a  rapid.  We 
were  never  fearful  of  being  drawn  into  a  cataract  without 
having  a  chance  to  land  somewhere.  The  water  is 
strangely  quiet,  to  a  comparatively  close  distance  above 
nearly  all  rapids.  We  usually  tied  up  anywhere  from 
fifty  feet  to  a  hundred  yards  above  a  drop,  before  inspect- 
ing it.  If  it  was  a  "big-water"  rapid,  we  usually  looked 
it  over  standing  on  the  seat  in  the  boats,  then  continued. 
By  signals  with  the  hands,  the  one  first  over  would  guide 
the  other,  if  any  hidden  rocks  or  dangerous  channel 
threatened.  While  we  did  not  think  much  about  it, 
we  usually  noted  the  places  where  one  might  climb  out 
on  the  plateau.  Little  could  be  told  about  the  upper 
walls  from  the  river. 

A  chilling  wind  swept  up  the  river,  penetrating  our 
soaked  garments.  But  we  paid  little  attention  to  this, 
only  pulling  the  harder,  not  only  to  keep  the  circulation 


SIGNALLING  OUR  CANYON  HOME  215 

going,  but  every  pull  of  the  oars  put  us  that  much  nearer 
home.  We  never  paused  in  our  rowing  until  we  anchored 
at  4.30  P.M.  under  Rust's  tramway,  close  to  the  mouth 
of  Bright  Angel  Creek.  According  to  the  United  States 
Geological  Survey  there  is  a  descent  of  178  feet  from  the 
head  of  the  Hance  Rapid  to  the  end  of  Bright  Angel 
Trail,  one  mile  below  the  creek.  We  would  have  a 
very  moderate  descent  in  that  mile.  The  run  from  the 
Hance  Rapid  had  been  made  in  less  than  five  hours. 

Our  boats  were  tied  in  the  shadow  of  the  cage  hanging 
from  a  cable  sixty  feet  above.  It  stretched  across  a  quiet 
pool,  450  feet  across  —  for  the  river  is  dammed  by  debris 
from  the  creek  below,  and  fills  the  channel  from  wall  to 
wall.  Hurriedly  we  made  our  way  up  to  Rust's  camp, 
—  closed  for  the  winter ;  for  heavy  snows  would  cover 
the  North  Rim  in  a  few  days  or  a  few  weeks  at  the  far- 
thest, filling  the  trails  with  heavy  drifts  and  driving  the 
cougar  into  the  canyon  where  dogs  and  horses  cannot 
follow.  But  the  latch-string  was  out  for  us,  we  knew, 
had  we  cared  to  use  the  tents.  Our  signal  fire  was  built 
a  mile  above  the  camp,  at  a  spot  that  was  plainly  visible 
on  a  clear  day  from  our  home  on  the  other  side,  six  miles 
away  as  the  crow  flies.  We  had  often  looked  at  this  spot, 
with  a  telescope,  from  the  veranda  of  our  studio,  watch- 
ing the  hunting  and  sight-seeing  parties  ride  up  the  bed 
of  the  stream.  We  rather  feared  the  drifting  clouds  and 
mists  would  hide  the  fire  from  view,  but  now  and  then 


2l6  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

a  rift  appeared,  and  we  knew  if  they  were  looking  they 
could  see  its  light.  Camp  No.  51  was  made  close  to 
Bright  Angel  Creek,  that  evening,  Thursday,  October 
the  1 6th,  two  months  and  eight  days  from  the  time  we 
had  embarked  on  our  journey. 

Three  or  four  hours  were  spent  in  packing  our  ma- 
terial the  next  morning,  so  it  could  be  stored  in  a  miners' 
tunnel,  near  the  end  of  the  trail.  We  would  pack  little 
of  this  out,  as  we  intended  to  resume  our  river  work  in  a 
week  or  ten  days.  A  five-minute  run  took  us  over  the 
rapid  below  Bright  Angel  Creek,  and  down  to  a  bend  in 
the  river,  just  above  the  Cameron  or  Bright  Angel  Trail. 
Two  men  —  guides  from  the  hotel  —  called  to  us  as  our 
boats  swept  into  view.  We  made  a  quick  dash  over  the 
vicious  little  drop  below  the  bend,  —  easy  for  our  boats, 
but  dangerous  enough  for  lighter  craft  on  account  of  a 
difficult  whirlpool,  —  and  were  soon  on  shore  greeting 
old  friends.  Up  on  the  plateau,  1300  feet  above,  a  trail 
party  of  tourists  and  guides  called  down  their  welcome. 
The  stores  were  put  in  the  miners'  tunnel  as  we  had 
planned,  and  the  boats  were  taken  above  the  high-water 
mark ;  placed  in  dry  dock  one  might  say. 

The  guides  had  good  news  for  us  and  bad  news  too. 
Emery's  wife  had  been  ill  with  appendicitis  nearly  all 
the  time  we  were  on  our  journey.  We  had  received 
letters  from  her  at  every  post-office  excepting  Lee's  Ferry, 
but  never  a  hint  that  all  was  not  well.  She  knew  it  would 
break  up  the  trip.  Pretty  good  nerve,  we  thought ! 


SIGNALLING  OUR  CANYON  HOME  217 

Ragged  and  weary,  but  happy ;  a  little  lean  and  over- 
trained, but  feeling  entirely  "fit,"  —  we  commenced  our 
seven-mile  climb  up  the  trail,  every  turn  of  which  seemed 
like  an  old  friend.  When  1300  feet  above  the  river,  our 
little  workshop  beside  a  stream  on  the  plateau  —  only 
used  at  intervals  when  no  water  can  be  had  on  top,  and 
closed  for  three  months  past  —  gave  us  our  first  cheerless 
greeting.  Although  little  more  than  a  hundred  feet  from 
the  trail,  we  did  not  stop  to  inspect  it.  Cameron's  Indian 
Garden  Camp  was  also  closed  for  the  day,  and  we  were 
disappointed  in  a  hope  that  we  could  telephone  to  our 
home,  3200  feet  above.  But  the  tents,  under  rows  of 
waving  cottonwoods,  and  surrounded  by  beds  of  bloom- 
ing roses  and  glorious  chrysanthemums,  gave  us  a  more 
cheerful  welcome  than  our  little  building  below.  We 
only  stopped  to  quench  our  thirst  in  the  bubbling  spring, 
then  began  the  four-mile  climb  that  would  put  us  on  top 
of  the  towering  cliff.  Soon  we  overtook  the  party  we 
had  seen  on  the  plateau.  Some  of  the  tourists  kindly 
offered  us  their  mules,  but  mules  were  too  slow  for  us, 
and  they  were  soon  far  below  us.  Calls,  faint  at  first, 
but  growing  louder  as  we  advanced,  came  floating  down 
from  above.  On  nearing  the  top  our  younger  brother 
Ernest,  who  had  come  on  from  Pittsburg  to  look  after 
our  business,  came  running  down  the  trail  to  greet  us. 
One  member  of  a  troupe  of  moving-picture  actors,  in 
cowboy  garb,  remarked  that  we  "  didn't  look  like  moving- 


21 8  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

picture  explorers";  then  little  Edith  emerged  from  our 
studio  just  below  the  head  of  Bright  Angel  Trail  and 
came  skipping  down  toward  us,  but  stopped  suddenly 
when  near  us,  and  said  smilingly : 

"Is  that  my  Daddy  with  all  those  whiskers  ?" 


BRIGHT  ANGEL   CREEK   AND   CANYON. 


Copyright  by  Kolb  Bros. 


CHAPTER  XX 

ONE    MONTH    LATER 

NATURALLY  we  were  very  impatient  to  know  just 
what  success  we  had  met  with  in  our  photographic  work. 
Some  of  the  motion  pictures  had  been  printed  and  re- 
turned to  us.  My  brother,  who  meanwhile  had  taken 
his  family  to  Los  Angeles,  sent  very  encouraging  reports 
regarding  some  of  the  films. 

Among  the  Canyon  visitors  who  came  down  to  inspect 
the  results  of  our  trip  were  Thomas  Moran,  the  famous 
artist,  with  his  daughter,  Miss  Ruth,  whose  interest  was 
more  than  casual.  Thomas  Moran's  name,  more  than  any 
other,  with  the  possible  exception  of  Major  Powell's,  is 
to  be  associated  with  the  Grand  Canyon.  It  was  his 
painting  which  hangs  in  the  capital  at  Washington  that 
first  acquainted  the  American  public  with  the  wonders 
of  the  Canyon.  This  painting  was  the  result  of  a  journey 
he  made  with  Major  Powell,  from  Salt  Lake  City  to  the 
north  side  of  the  Canyon,  thirty-eight  years  before. 
In  addition  he  had  made  most  of  the  cuts  that  illustrated 

Major  Powell's  government  report ;   making  his  sketches 

219 


220  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

on  wood  from  photographs  this  expedition  had  taken 
with  the  old-fashioned  wet  plates  that  had  to  be  coated 
and  developed  on  the  spot  —  wonderful  photographs, 
which  for  beauty,  softness,  and  detail  are  not  excelled, 
and  are  scarcely  equalled  by  more  modern  plates  and 
photographic  results.  The  only  great  advantage  of 
the  dry  plates  was  the  fact  that  they  could  catch  the 
action  of  the  water  with  an  instantaneous  exposure,  where 
the  wet  plates  had  to  have  a  long  exposure  and  lost  that 
action. 

Thomas  Moran  could  pick  up  almost  any  picture  that 
we  made,  and  tell  us  at  once  just  what  section  it  came 
from  and  its  identifying  characteristics.  His  daughter, 
Miss  Ruth,  was  just  as  much  interested  in  our  trip  and 
its  results.  She  was  anxious  to  know  when  we  would  go 
on  again  and  planned  on  making  the  trail  trip  down  to 
the  plateau  to  see  us  take  the  plunge  over  the  first  rough 
rapid.  She  was  just  a  little  anxious  to  see  an  upset, 
and  asked  if  we  could  not  promise  that  one  would  occur. 

A  month  passed  before  my  brother  returned  from  Los 
Angeles.  His  wife,  who  had  remained  there,  was  in 
good  health  again,  and  insisted  on  his  finishing  the  trip 
at  once.  We  were  just  as  anxious  to  have  it  finished,  but 
were  not  very  enthusiastic  about  this  last  part  on  account 
of  some  very  cold  weather  we  had  been  having.  On 
the  other  hand,  we  feared  if  the  trip  was  not  finished  then 
it  might  never  be  completed.  So  we  consoled  ourselves 


ONE  MONTH  LATER  221 

with  the  thought  that  it  was  some  warmer  at  the  bottom 
than  it  was  on  top,  and  prepared  to  make  the  final  plunge 
-350  miles  to  Needles,  with  a  i6oo-foot  descent  in  the 
185  miles  that  remained  of  the  Grand  Canyon. 

A  foot  of  snow  had  fallen  two  nights  before  we  planned 
on  leaving.  The  thermometer  had  dropped  to  zero,  and  a 
little  below  on  one  occasion,  during  the  nights  for  a  week 
past.  Close  to  the  top  the  trail  was  filled  with  drifts. 
The  walls  were  white  with  snow  down  to  the  plateau, 
3200  feet  below;  something  unusual,  as  it  seldom  de- 
scends as  snow  lower  than  two  thousand  feet,  but  turns 
to  rain.  But  a  week  of  cold,  cloudy  weather,  accompanied 
by  hard  winds,  had  driven  all  warmth  from  the  canyon, 
allowing  this  snow  to  descend  lower  than  usual.  Under 
such  conditions  the  damp  cold  in  the  canyon,  while  not 
registered  on  the  thermometer  as  low  as  that  on  top,  is 
more  penetrating.  Very  little  sun  reaches  the  bottom 
of  the  inner  gorge  in  December  and  January.  It  is 
usually  a  few  degrees  colder  than  the  inner  plateau 
above  it,  which  is  open,  and  does  get  some  sun.  These 
were  the  conditions  when  we  returned  to  our  boats 
December  the  igth,  1911,  and  found  a  thin  covering  of 
ice  on  small  pools  near  the  river. 

Our  party  was  enlarged  by  the  addition  of  two  men 
who  were  anxious  for  some  river  experience.  One  was 
our  younger  brother,  Ernest.  We  agreed  to  take  him 
as  far  as  the  Bass  Trail,  twenty-five  miles  below,  where 


222  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

he  could  get  out  on  top  and  return  to  our  home.  The 
other  was  a  young  man  named  Bert  Lauzon,  who  wanted 
to  make  the  entire  trip,  and  we  were  glad  to  have  him. 
Lauzon,  although  but  24  years  old,  had  been  a  quartz 
miner  and  mining  engineer  for  some  years.  Coming 
from  the  mountains  of  Colorado,  he  had  travelled  over 
most  of  the  Western  states,  and  a  considerable  part  of 
Mexico,  in  his  expeditions.  There  was  no  question  in 
our  minds  about  Lauzon.  He  was  the  man  we  needed. 

To  offset  the  weight  of  an  extra  man  for  each  boat, 
our  supplies  were  cut  to  the  minimum,  arrangements 
having  been  made  with  W.  W.  Bass  —  the  proprietor 
of  the  Bass  Camps  and  of  the  Mystic  Springs  Trail  - 
to  have  some  provisions  packed  in  over  his  trail.  What 
provisions  we  took  ourselves  were  packed  down  on  two 
mules,  and  anything  we  could  spare  from  our  boats  was 
packed  out  on  the  same  animals.  As  we  were  about 
ready  to  leave  a  friendly  miner  said:  "You  can't  hook 
fish  in  the  Colorado  in  the  winter,  they  won't  bite  nohow. 
You'd  better  take  a  couple  of  sticks  of  my  giant-powder 
along.  That  will  help  you  get  'em,  and  it  may  keep  you 
from  starving."  Under  the  circumstances  it  seemed  like 
a  wise  precaution  and  we  took  his  giant-powder,  as  he 
had  suggested. 

The  river  had  fallen  two  feet  below  the  stage  on 
which  we  quit  a  month  before.  A  scale  of  foot-marks 
on  a  rock  wall  rising  from  the  river  showed  that  the  water 


ONE  MONTH  LATER  223 

was  twenty-seven  feet  deep  at  that  spot.  No  measure- 
ment was  made  in  the  middle  of  the  river  channel.  The 
current  here  between  two  small  rapids  flows  at  five 
and  three-fourths  miles  per  hour.  The  width  of  the  stream 
is  close  to  250  feet.  The  high-water  mark  here  is  forty- 
five  feet  above  the  low-water  stage,  then  the  river  spreads 
to  five  hundred  feet  in  width,  running  with  a  swiftness 
and  strength  of  current  and  whirlpool  that  is  tremendous. 
The  highest  authentic  measurement  in  a  narrow  channel, 
of  which  we  know,  is  one  made  by  Julius  F.  Stone  in 
Marble  Canyon.  He  recorded  one  spot  where  the  high- 
water  mark  was  115  feet  above  the  low-water  mark. 
These  figures  might  look  large  at  first,  but  if  they 
are  compared  with  some  of  the  floods  on  the  Ohio 
River,  for  instance,  and  that  stream  were  boxed  in  a 
two  hundred  foot  channel  the  difference  would  not  be 
great,  we  imagine. 

One  of  the  young  men  who  greeted  us  when  we  landed 
came  down  with  a  companion  to  see  us  embark.  On 
the  plateau  1300  feet  above,  looking  like  small  insects 
against  the  sky-line,  was  a  trail  party,  equally  interested. 
They  did  not  stand  on  the  point  usually  visited  by  such 
parties  but  had  gone  to  a  point  about  a  mile  to  the  west, 
where  they  had  a  good  view  of  a  short,  rough  rapid. 
The  little  rapid  below  the  trail,  while  it  was  no  place 
that  one  would  care  to  swim  in,  had  no  comparison  with 
this  other  rapid  in  violence.  We  had  promised  the 


224  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

party  that  we  would  run  this  rapid  that  afternoon,  so 
we  spent  little  time  in  packing  systematically,  but  hur- 
riedly threw  the  stuff  in  and  embarked.  Less  than  an 
hour  later  we  had  made  the  two-mile  run  and  the  dash 
through  the  short  rapid,  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  all 
concerned. 

We  camped  a  short  distance  below  the  rapid,  just 
opposite  a  grave  of  a  man  whose  skeleton  had  been  found 
halfway  up  the  granite,  five  years  before.  Judging  by 
his  clothes  and  hob-nailed  shoes  he  was  a  prospector. 
He  was  lying  in  a  natural  position,  with  his  head  resting 
on  a  rock.  An  overcoat  was  buttoned  tightly  about  him. 
No  large  bones  were  broken,  but  he  might  have  had  a 
fall  and  been  injured  internally.  More  likely  he  became 
sick  and  died.  The  small  bones  of  the  hands  and  feet 
had  been  taken  away  by  field-mice,  and  no  doubt  the 
turkey-buzzards  had  stripped  the  flesh.  His  pockets 
contained  Los  Angeles  newspapers  of  1900 ;  he  was  found 
in  1906.  The  pockets  also  contained  a  pipe  and  a  pocket- 
knife,  but  nothing  by  which  he  could  be  identified.  The 
coroner's  jury  —  of  which  my  brother  was  a  member  - 
buried  him  where  he  was  found,  covering  the  body  with 
rocks,  for  there  was  no  earth. 

Such  finds  are  not  unusual  in  this  rugged  country. 
These  prospectors  seldom  say  where  they  are  going,  no 
track  is  kept  of  their  movements,  and  unless  something 
about  their  clothes  tells  who  they  are,  their  identity  is 


ONE  MONTH  LATER  225 

seldom  established.  The  proximity  of  this  grave  made 
us  wonder  how  many  more  such  unburied  bodies  there 
were  along  this  river.  We  thought  too  of  our  friend 
Smith,  back  in  Cataract  Canyon,  and  wondered  if  we 
would  hear  from  him  again. 

Our  helpers  got  a  lot  of  experience  in  motion-picture 
making  the  next  day,  while  we  ran  our  boats  through  a 
number  of  good,  strong  rapids,  well  known  locally  as  the 
Salt  Creek  Rapid,  Granite  Falls  or  Monument  Rapid, 
the  Hermit,  the  Bouchere,  and  others.  This  was  all 
new  to  the  boys,  and  provided  some  thrilling  entertain- 
ment for  them.  When  a  difficult  passage  was  safely 
made  Bert  would  wave  his  hat  and  yell  "Hoo"  in  a  deep, 
long  call  that  would  carry  above  the  roar  of  the  rapids, 
then  he  and  Ernest  would  follow  along  the  shore  with 
their  cameras,  as  these  rapids  all  had  a  shore  on  one 
side  or  the  other.  The  sun  shone  on  the  river  this  day, 
and  we  congratulated  ourselves  on  having  made  the  most 
of  our  opportunities. 

In  our  first  rapid  the  next  morning,  we  had  to  carry 
our  passengers  whether  we  wanted  to  or  not.  There 
was  no  shore  on  either  side.  In  such  plunges  they  would 
lie  down  on  the  deck  of  the  boat  behind  the  oarsman, 
holding  to  the  raised  bulkhead,  ducking  their  heads  when 
an  oncoming  wave  prepared  to  break  over  them.  Then 
they  would  shake  themselves  as  a  water-spaniel  does, 
and  Bert  with  a  grin  would  say, 
Q 


226  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

"Young  fellows,  business  is  picking  up  !" 
Ernest  agreed,  too,  that  he  had  never  seen  anything 
in  Pittsburg  that  quite  equalled  it.  If  the  rapid  was  not 
bad,  they  sat  upright  on  the  deck,  but  this  made  the 
boats  top-heavy,  and  as  much  of  the  oarsman's  work 
depended  on  swinging  his  weight  from  side  to  side,  it 
was  important  that  no  mistake  should  be  made  about 
this  distribution  of  weight.  Often  the  bottom  of  a  boat 
would  show  above  the  water  as  it  listed  to  one  side.  At 
such  a  time  a  person  sitting  on  the  raised  deck  might  get 
thrown  overboard. 

Before  starting  on  this  last  trip  we  had  thought  it 
would  be  only  right  to  give  our  younger  brother  a  ride  in 
a  rapid  that  would  be  sure  to  give  him  a  good  ducking, 
as  his  experience  was  going  to  be  short.  But  the  water 
and  the  wind,  especially  in  the  shadows,  was  so  very 
cold  that  we  gave  this  plan  up,  and  avoided  the  waves 
as  much  as  possible.  He  got  a  ducking  this  morning, 
however,  in  a  place  where  we  least  expected  it.  It  was 
not  a  rapid,  just  smooth,  very  swift  water,  while  close 
to  the  right  shore  there  was  one  submerged  rock  with  a 
foot  of  water  shooting  over  it,  in  such  a  way  that  it  made 
a  "reverse  whirl"  as  they  are  called  in  Alaska  —  water 
rolling  back  upstream,  and  from  all  sides  as  well,  to 
fill  the  vacuum  just  below  the  rock.  This  one  was  about 
twelve  feet  across ;  the  water  disappeared  as  though  it 
was  being  poured  down  a  manhole. 


ONE  MONTH  LATER 


227 


The  least  care,  or  caution,  would  have  taken  me  clear 
of  this  place ;  but  the  smooth  water  was  so  deceptive, 
and  was  so  much  stronger  than  I  had  judged  it  to  be, 
that  I  found  myself  caught  sideways  to  the  current, 
hemmed  in  with  waves  on  all  sides  of  the  boat,  knocked 
back  and  forth,  and  resisted  in  all  my  efforts  to  pull 
clear.  The  boat  was  gradually  filling  with  the  splashing 
water.  Ernest  was  lying  on  the  deck,  hanging  on  like 
grim  death,  slipping  off,  first  on  one  side,  then  on  the 
other,  and  wondering  what  was  going  to  happen.  So  was 
I.  To  be  held  up  in  the  middle  of  a  swift  stream  was  a 
new  experience,  and  I  was  not  proud  of  it.  The  others 
passed  as  soon  as  they  saw  what  had  happened,  and 
were  waiting  in  an  eddy  below.  Perhaps  we  were  there 
only  one  minute,  but  it  seemed  like  five.  I  helped  Ernest 
into  the  cockpit.  About  that  time  the  boat  filled  with 
splashing  water  and  sunk  low,  the  stream  poured  over 
the  rock  and  into  the  boat,  and  she  upset  instantly. 

Ernest  had  on  two  life-preservers,  and  came  up  about 
thirty  feet  below,  swimming  very  well  considering  that 
he  was  weighted  with  heavy  clothes  and  high-topped 
shoes.  The  boys  pulled  him  in  before  he  was  carried 
against  a  threatening  wall.  Meanwhile,  I  held  to  the 
boat,  which  was  forced  out  as  soon  as  she  was  overturned, 
and  climbed  on  top,  or  rather  on  the  bottom.  I  was 
trying  to  make  the  best  of  things  and  was  giving  a  cheer 
when  some  one  said, 


228  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

"There  goes  your  hatch  cover  and  you've  lost  the 
motion-picture  camera." 

Perhaps  I  had.  My  cheering  ceased.  The  camera 
had  been  hurriedly  shoved  down  in  the  hatch  a  few  min- 
utes before. 

On  being  towed  to  shore,  however,  we  found  the 
camera  had  not  fallen  out.  It  had  been  shoved  to  the 
side  less  than  one  inch,  but  that  little  bit  had  saved  it. 
It  was  filled  with  water,  though,  and  all  the  pictures 
were  on  the  unfinished  roll  in  the  camera,  and  were  ruined. 
We  had  been  in  the  ice-cold  water  long  enough  to  lose 
that  glow  which  comes  after  a  quick  immersion  and  were 
chilled  through ;  but  what  bothered  me  more  than  any- 
thing else  was  the  fact  that  I  had  been  caught  in  such  a 
trap  after  successfully  running  the  bad  rapids  above. 
We  made  a  short  run  after  that  so  as  to  get  out  of  sight 
of  the  deceptive  place,  then  proceeded  to  dry  out.  The 
ruined  film  came  in  handy  for  kindling  our  camp-fire. 

We  were  now  in  the  narrowest  part  of  the  upper  por- 
tion of  the  Grand  Canyon,  the  distance  from  rim  to  rim 
at  one  point  being  close  to  six  miles.  The  width  at 
Bright  Angel  varied  from  eight  to  fourteen  miles.  The 
peaks  rising  from  the  plateau,  often  as  high  as  the  canyon 
walls,  and  with  flat  tops  a  mile  or  more  in  width,  made 
the  canyon  even  narrower,  so  that  at  times  we  were  in 
canyons  close  to  a  mile  in  depth,  and  little  over  four 
miles  across  at  the  tops. 


ONE  MONTH  LATER  229 

In  this  section  of  the  granite  there  were  few  places 
where  one  could  climb  out.  Nearly  all  the  lateral  can- 
yons ended  quite  a  distance  above  the  river,  then  fell 
sheer ;  the  lower  parts  of  the  walls  were  quite  often  smooth- 
surfaced,  where  they  were  polished  by  the  sands  in  the 
stream.  The  black  granite  in  such  cases  resembled  huge 
deposits  of  anthracite  coal.  Sections  of  the  granite 
often  projected  out  of  the  water  as  islands,  with  the  softer 
rock  washed  away,  the  granite  being  curiously  carved 
by  whirling  rocks  and  the  emery-like  sands.  Holes 
three  and  four  feet  deep  were  worn  by  small  whirling 
rocks,  and  grooves  were  worn  at  one  place  by  growing 
willows  working  back  and  forth  in  the  water,  the  sand, 
strange  to  say,  having  less  effect  on  the  limbs  than  it  had 
on  the  hard  rocks. 

About  noon  of  the  day  following  this  upset  we  reached 
the  end  of  the  Bass  Trail  and  another  cable  crossing, 
about  sixty  feet  above  the  water.  Three  men  were 
waiting  for  us,  and  gave  a  call  when  we  rowed  in  sight 
of  their  camp.  One  was  Lauzon's  brother,  another  was 
Cecil  Dodd,  a  cowboy  who  looked  after  Bass'  stock, 
and  the  breaking  of  his  horses,  the  third  was  John  Nor- 
berg,  an  "old  timer"  and  an  old  friend  as  well,  engaged 
at  that  time  in  working  some  asbestos  and  copper  claims. 

The  granite  was  broken  down  at  this  point,  and 
another  small  deposit  of  algonkian  was  found  here. 
There  were  intrusions,  faults,  and  displacements  both 


230  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

in  these  formations  and  in  the  layers  above.  These 
fractures  exposed  mineral  seams  and  deposits  of  copper 
and  asbestos  on  both  sides  of  the  river,  some  of  which 
Bass  had  opened  up  and  located,  waiting  for  the  day 
when  there  would  be  better  transportation  facilities 
than  his  burros  aiforded. 

This  was  not  our  first  visit  to  this  section.  On  other 
occasions  we  had  descended  by  the  Mystic  Spring  (or 
Bass)  Trail,  on  the  south  side,  crossed  on  the  tramway, 
and  were  taken  by  Bass  over  some  of  his  many  trails, 
on  the  north  side.  We  had  visited  the  asbestos  claims, 
where  the  edge  of  a  blanket  formation  of  the  rock  known 
as  serpentine,  containing  the  asbestos,  lay  exposed  to 
view,  twisting  around  the  head  of  narrow  canyons,  and 
under  beetling  cliffs.  We  went  halfway  up  the  north 
rim  trail,  through  Shinumo  and  White  canyons,  our 
objective  point  on  these  trips  being  a  narrow  box  canyon 
which  contained  a  large  boulder,  rolled  from  the  walls 
above,  and  wedged  in  the  flume-like  gorge  far  above 
our  heads.  This  trail  continues  up  to  the  top,  going  over 
the  narrow  neck  which  connects  Powell's  Plateau  —  a 
segregated  section  of  thickly  wooded  surface  several 
miles  in  extent  —  with  the  main  extent  of  the  Kaibab 
Plateau. 

Ernest,  though  slightly  affected  with  tonsillitis,  was 
loath  to  leave  us  here.  It  was  zero  weather  on  top,  we 
were  told,  and  it  looked  it.  The  walls  and  peaks  were 


ONE  MONTH  LATER  231 

white  with  snow.  He  would  not  have  an  easy  trip. 
The  drifted  snow  was  only  broken  by  the  one  party  that 
we  found  at  the  river,  and  quite  likely  it  would  be  very 
late  when  he  arrived  at  the  ranch.  John  went  up  with 
him  a  few  miles  to  get  a  horse  for  the  ride  home  the  next 
day.  Ernest  took  with  him  a  few  hurriedly  written 
letters  and  the  exposed  plates.  The  film  we  were  going 
to  save  was  lost  in  the  upset. 

On  inspecting  the  provisions  which  were  packed  in 
here  we  found  the  grocers  had  shipped  the  order  short, 
omitting,  besides  other  necessities,  some  canned  baked 
beans,  on  which  we  depended  a  great  deal.  This  meant 
one  of  two  things.  We  would  have  to  make  a  quicker 
run  than  we  had  planned  on,  or  would  have  to  get  out  of 
the  canyon  at  one  of  the  two  places  where  such  an  exit 
could  easily  be  made. 

The  M.  P.  as  our  motion-picture  camera  was  called 
—  and  which  was  re-christened  but  not  abbreviated  by 
Bert,  as  "The  Member  of  Parliament"  —  had  to  be 
cleaned  before  we  could  proceed.  It  took  all  this  day, 
and  much  of  the  next,  to  get  the  moisture  and  sand  out 
of  the  delicate  mechanism,  and  have  it  running  smoothly 
again.  After  it  was  once  more  in  good  condition  Emery 
announced  that  he  wanted  to  work  out  a  few  scenes  of 
an  uncompleted  "  movie-drama."  The  action  was  snappy. 
The  plot  was  brief,  but  harmonized  well  with  the 
setting,  and  the  "props."  Dodd,  who  was  a  big  Texan, 


232  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

was  cast  for  the  role  of  horse  thief  and  bad  man  in 
general.  Bert's  brother,  Morris  Lauzon,  was  the  deputy 
sheriff,  and  had  a  star  cut  from  the  top  of  a  tomato 
can  to  prove  it.  John  was  to  be  a  prospector.  He 
would  need  little  rehearsing  for  this  part.  In  addition, 
he  had  not  been  out  where  he  could  have  the  services  of 
a  barber  for  six  months  past,  which  was  all  the  better. 
John  had  a  kind,  quiet,  easy-going  way  that  made  friends 
for  him  on  sight.  He  was  not  consulted  about  the  part 
he  was  to  play,  but  we  counted  on  his  good  nature 
and  he  was  cast  for  the  part.  Emery,  who  was  cast  for 
the  part  of  a  mining  engineer,  arrived  on  the  scene  in  his 
boat,  after  rounding  the  bend  above  the  camp,  tied  up 
and  climbed  out  over  the  cliffs  to  view  the  surrounding 
country. 

The  hidden  desperado,  knowing  that  he  was  being 
hunted,  stole  the  boat  with  its  contents,  and  made  his 
escape.  The  returning  engineer  arrived  just  in  time  to 
see  his  boat  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  and  a  levelled 
rifle  halted  him  until  the  boat  was  hidden  around  the 
bend.  At  that  moment  the  officer  joined  him,  and  a 
hurried  consultation  was  held.  Then  the  other  boat, 
which  had  been  separated  from  its  companion,  pulled 
into  sight,  and  I  was  hailed  by  the  men  on  shore.  They 
came  aboard  and  we  gave  chase.  Could  anything  be 
better  ?  The  thief  naturally  thought  he  was  safe,  as  he 
had  not  seen  the  second  boat !  After  going  over  a  few 


ONE  MONTH  LATER  233 

rapids,  he  saw  a  fire  up  in  the  cliffs,  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  river.  He  landed,  and  climbed  up  to  the  camp  where 
John  was  at  work.  John  shared  his  camp  fare  with  him, 
and  directed  him  to  a  hidden  trail.  The  pursuers,  on 
finding  the  abandoned  boat,  quietly  followed  the  trail, 
and  surprised  Dodd  in  John's  camp.  He  was  disarmed 
and  sent  across  the  river  in  the  tramway,  accompanied 
by  the  deputy,  and  was  punished  as  he  richly  deserved 
to  be. 

This  was  the  scenario.  Bert  handled  the  camera. 
Emery  was  the  playwright,  director,  and  producer.  All 
rights  reserved. 

Everything  worked  beautifully.  The  film  did  not 
get  balled  up  in  the  cogs,  as  sometimes  happened.  The 
light  was  good.  Belasco  himself  could  not  have  improved 
on  the  stage-setting.  The  trail  led  over  the  wildest, 
and  most  picturesque  places  imaginable.  Dodd  made 
a  splendid  desperado,  and  acted  as  if  he  had  done  nothing 
but  steal  horses  and  dodge  the  officers  all  his  life.  A  pile 
of  driftwood  fifty  feet  high  and  with  a  tunnel  underneath 
made  a  splendid  hiding  place  for  him  while  the  first  boat 
was  being  tied.  Being  a  cowpuncher,  it  may  be  that 
he  did  not  handle  the  oars  as  well  as  an  experienced  river- 
man,  but  any  rapid  could  be  used  for  an  insert.  The 
deputy,  though  youthful,  was  determined  and  never 
lost  sight  of  the  trail.  The  engineer  acted  his  part  well 
and  registered  surprise  and  anger,  when  he  found  how 


234    THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

he  had  been  tricked.  John,  who  had  returned,  humoured 
us,  and  dug  nuggets  of  gold  out  of  limestone  rocks,  where 
no  one  would  have  thought  of  looking  for  them.  The 
fact  that  the  tramway  scene  was  made  before  any  of  the 
others  did  not  matter.  We  could  play  our  last  act  first 
if  we  wanted  to.  All  we  had  to  do  was  to  cut  the  film 
and  fasten  it  on  to  the  end.  Emery  was  justly  proud  of 
his  first  efforts  as  a  producer.  We  were  sorry  this  film 
had  not  been  sent  out  with  Ernest. 

This  thrilling  drama  will  not  be  released  in  the  near 
future.  One  day  later  we  found  that  a  drop  of  water 
had  worked  into  the  lens  cell  at  the  last  upset.  This 
fogged  the  lens.  We  focussed  with  a  scale  and  had  over- 
looked the  lens  when  cleaning  the  camera.  Nothing 
but  a  very  faint  outline  showed  on  the  film.  We  had 
all  the  film  we  needed  for  a  week  after  this,  for  kindling 
our  fires. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WHAT    CHRISTMAS    EVE    BROUGHT 

IN  recording  our  various  mishaps  and  upsets  in  these 
pages,  it  may  seem  to  the  reader  as  if  I  have  given  undue 
prominence  to  the  part  I  took  in  them.  If  so,  it  has  not 
been  from  choice,  but  because  they  happened  in  that 
way.  No  doubt  a  great  deal  of  my  trouble  was  due  to 
carelessness.  After  I  had  learned  to  row  my  boat  fairly 
well  I  sometimes  took  chances  that  proved  to  be  any- 
thing but  advisable,  depending  a  good  deal  on  luck,  and 
luck  was  not  always  with  me.  My  brother  was  less 
hasty  in  making  his  decisions,  and  was  more  careful  in 
his  movements,  with  the  result  that  his  boat  had  few 
marks  of  any  kind,  and  he  had  been  more  fortunate  than 
I  with  the  rapids. 

It  is  my  duty  to  record  another  adventure  at  this 
point,  in  which  we  all  three  shared,  each  in  a  different 
manner.  This  time  I  am  going  to  give  my  brother's 
record  of  the  happenings  that  overtook  us  about  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  December  the  24th,  less  than 
three  hours  after  we  left  our  friends  at  the  Bass  Trail 

235 


236  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

with   "best  wishes   for   a   Merry   Christmas,"    and   had 
received  instructions  from  John  "to  keep  our  feet  dry." 

My  brother's  account  follows  : 

"The  fourth  rapid  below  the  Bass  Trail  was  bad, 
but  after  looking  it  over  we  decided  it  could  be  run.  We 
had  taken  chances  in  rapids  that  looked  worse  and 
came  through  unharmed ;  if  we  were  successful  here,  it 
would  be  over  in  a  few  minutes,  and  forgotten  an  hour 
later.  So  we  each  made  the  attempt." 

"  Lauzon  had  gone  near  the  lower  end  of  the  rapid, 
taking  the  left  shore,  for  a  sixty-foot  wall  with  a  sloping 
bench  on  top  rose  sheer  out  of  the  water  on  the  right. 
The  only  shore  on  the  right  was  close  to  the  head  of  the 
rapid,  a  small  deposit  or  bank  of  earth  and  rock.  The 
inner  gorge  here  was  about  nine  hundred  feet  deep." 

"Ellsworth  went  first,  taking  the  left-hand  side.  I 
picked  out  a  course  on  the  right  as  being  the  least  dan- 
gerous ;  but  I  was  scarcely  started  when  I  found  myself 
on  a  nest  of  jagged  rocks,  with  violent  water  all  about 
me,  and  with  other  rocks,  some  of  them  submerged, 
below  me.  I  climbed  out  on  the  rocks  and  held  the 
boat." 

"If  the  others  could  land  below  the  rapid  and  climb 
back,  they  might  get  a  rope  to  me  and  pull  me  off  the 
rocks  far  enough  to  give  me  a  new  start,  but  they  could 
not  pull  the  boat  in  to  shore  through  the  rough  water. 
A  person  thinks  quickly  under  such  circumstances,  and 


WHAT  CHRISTMAS  EVE  BROUGHT  237 

I  had  it  all  figured  out  as  soon  as  I  was  on  the  rocks. 
The  greatest  trouble  would  be  to  hold  the  boat  if  she 
broke  loose." 

"Then  I  saw  that  the  Defiance  was  in  trouble.  She 
was  caught  in  a  reverse  whirl  in  the  very  middle  of  the 
pounding  rapid,  bouncing  back  and  forth  like  a  great 
rubber  ball.  Finally  she  filled  with  the  splashing  water, 
sank  low,  and  the  water  pouring  over  the  rock  caught 
the  edge  of  the  twelve-hundred  pound  boat  and  turned 
her  over  as  if  she  were  a  toy ;  my  brother  was  holding  to 
the  gunwale  when  she  turned.  Still  she  was  held  in  the 
whirl,  jumping  as  violently  as  ever,  then  turned  upright 
again  and  was  forced  out.  Ellsworth  had  disappeared, 
but  came  up  nearly  a  hundred  feet  below,  struggling  to 
keep  on  top  but  going  down  with  every  breaking  wave. 
When  the  quieter  water  was  reached,  he  did  not  seem  to 
have  strength  enough  to  swim  out,  but  floated,  motion- 
less, in  a  standing  position,  his  head  kept  up  by  the  life- 
preservers.  The  next  rapid  was  not  over  fifty  yards 
below.  If  he  was  to  be  saved  it  must  be  done  instantly." 

"I  pried  the  boat  loose,  jumped  in  as  she  swung  clear, 
and  pulled  with  all  my  might,  headed  toward  the  centre 
of  the  river.  I  was  almost  clear  when  I  was  drawn  over 
a  dip,  bow  first,  and  struck  a  glancing  blow  against 
another  rock  I  had  never  seen.  There  was  a  crash,  and 
the  boards  broke  like  egg-shells.  It  was  all  done  in  a 
few  moments.  The  Edith  was  a  wreck,  I  did  not  know 


238  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

how  bad.  My  brother  had  disappeared.  Lauzon  was 
frantically  climbing  over  some  large  boulders,  trying  to 
reach  the  head  of  the  next  rapid,  where  the  boat  was 
held  in  an  eddy.  My  boat  was  not  upset,  but  the  waves 
were  surging  through  a  great  hole  in  her  side.  She  was 
drawn  into  an  eddy,  close  to  the  base  of  the  wall,  where 
I  could  tie  up  and  climb  out.  It  seemed  folly  to  try 
the  lower  end  with  my  filled  boat.  Climbing  to  the 
top  of  the  rock,  I  could  see  half  a  mile  down  the 
canyon,  but  my  brother  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  and  I 
had  no  idea  that  he  had  escaped.  I  was  returning  to 
my  wrecked  boat  when  Bert  waved  his  arms,  and  pointed 
to  the  head  of  the  rapid.  Going  back  once  more,  I  saw 
him  directly  below  me  at  the  base  of  the  sheer  rock,  in  an 
opening  where  the  wall  receded.  He  had  crawled  out 
twenty  feet  above  the  next  rapid.  Returning  to  my 
wrecked  boat,  I  was  soon  beside  him.  He  was  exhausted 
with  his  struggle  in  the  icy  waves ;  his  outer  garments 
were  frozen.  I  soon  procured  blankets  from  my  bed, 
removed  the  wet  clothes,  and  wrapped  him  up.  Lau- 
zon, true  to  our  expectations  of  what  he  would  do 
when  the  test  came,  swam  out  and  rescued  the  Defiance 
before  she  was  carried  over  the  next  rapid.  He  was 
inexperienced  at  the  oars  and  had  less  than  two  hours 
practice  after  he  had  joined  us.  It  was  a  tense  moment 
when  he  started  across,  above  the  rapid.  But  he  made 
it!  Landing  with  a  big  grin,  he  exclaimed,  ' Young 


WHAT  CHRISTMAS  EVE   BROUGHT  239 

fellows,  business  is  picking  up  !'  then  added,  'And  we're 
losing  lots  of  good  pictures  ! " 

;<  These  experiences  were  our  Christmas  presents  that 
year.  They  were  not  done  up  in  small  packages." 

:<We  repaired  the  boat  on  Christmas  day.  Three 
smashed  side  ribs  were  replaced  with  mesquite,  which 
we  found  growing  on  the  walls.  The  hole  was  patched 
with  boards  from  the  loose  bottom.  This  was  painted ; 
canvas  was  tacked  over  that  and  painted  also,  and  a  sheet 
of  tin  or  galvanized  iron  went  over  it  all.  This  completed 
the  repair  and  the  Edith  was  as  seaworthy  as  before." 

This  is  Emery's  account  of  the  "Christmas  Rapid." 

I  will  add  that  the  freezing  temperature  of  the  water 
and  the  struggle  for  breath  in  the  breaking  waves  left 
me  exhausted  and  at  the  mercy  of  the  river.  An  eddy 
drew  me  out  of  the  centre  of  the  stream  when  I  had 
given  up  all  hope  of  any  escape  from  the  next  rapid.  I 
had  seen  my  brother  on  the  rock  below  the  head  of  the 
rapid  and  knew  there  was  no  hope  from  him.  As  I  was 
being  drawn  back  into  the  current,  close  to  the  end  of 
the  sheer  wall  on  the  right,  my  feet  struck  bottom  on  some 
debris  washed  down  from  the  cliff.  I  made  three  efforts 
to  stand  but  fell  each  time,  and  finally  crawled  out  on 
my  hands  and  knees.  I  had  the  peculiar  sensation  of 
seeing  a  rain-storm  descending  before  my  eyes,  although 
I  knew  no  such  thing  existed;  every  fibre  in  my  body 
ached  and  continued  to  do  so  for  days  afterward ;  and 


240  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

the  moment  I  would  close  my  eyes  to  sleep  I  would  see 
mountainous  waves  about  me  and  would  feel  myself 
being  whirled  head  over  heels  just  as  I  was  in  that  rapid ; 
but  this  rapid,  strange  to  say,  while  exceedingly  rough 
and  swift,  did  not  contain  any  waves  that  we  would 
have  considered  large  up  to  this  time.  In  other  words, 
it  depended  on  the  circumstances  whether  it  was  bad  or 
not.  When  standing  on  the  shore,  picking  a  channel, 
it  appeared  to  be  a  moderately  bad  rapid,  in  which  a 
person,  aided  with  life-preservers,  should  have  little 
difficulty  in  keeping  on  top,  at  least  half  the  time.  After 
my  battle,  in  which,  as  far  as  personal  effort  went,  I  had 
lost,  and  after  my  providential  escape,  that  one  rapid 
appeared  to  be  the  largest  of  the  entire  series. 

It  is  difficult  to  describe  the  rapids  with  the  foot-rule 
standard,  and  give  an  idea  of  their  power.  One  un- 
familiar with  "white  water"  usually  associates  a  twelve- 
foot  descent  or  a  ten-foot  wave  with  a  similar  wave  on 
the  ocean.  There  is  no  comparison.  The  waters  of  the 
ocean  rise  and  fall,  the  waves  travel,  the  water  itself, 
except  in  breakers,  is  comparatively  still.  In  bad  rapids 
the  water  is  whirled  through  at  the  rate  of  ten  or  twelve 
miles  an  hour,  in  some  cases  much  swifter;  the  surface 
is  broken  by  streams  shooting  up  from  every  submerged 
rock ;  the  weight  of  the  river  is  behind  it,  and  the  waves, 
instead  of  tumbling  forward,  quite  as  often  break  up- 
stream. Such  waves,  less  than  six  feet  high,  are  often 


THE   BREAK   IN   THE   "EDITH." 


Copyright  by  Kolh  Bros. 


Copyright  by  Kolb  Bros. 


MERRY    CHRISTMAS!    THE    REPAIR    WAS    MADE    WITH    BILGE    BOARDS,    CANVAS, 

PAJNT,  AND   TIN. 


WHAT  CHRISTMAS  EVE  BROUGHT  241 

dangers  to  be  shunned.  After  being  overturned  in  them 
we  learned  their  tremendous  power,  a  power  we  would 
never  have  associated  with  any  water,  before  such  an 
experience,  short  of  a  waterfall. 

There  is  a  certain  amount  of  danger  in  the  canyons, 
-  plenty  of  it.  Still,  in  most  cases,  with  care  and  fore- 
thought, much  of  it  can  be  avoided.  We  think  we  are 
safe  in  saying  that  half  of  the  parties  who  have  attempted 
a  passage  through  these  canyons  have  met  with  fatalities. 
Most  of  these  have  occurred  in  Cataract  Canyon,  not 
because  it  is  any  worse  than  other  sections,  —  certainly 
no  worse  than  the  Grand  Canyon,  —  but  because  it  is 
easily  entered  from  the  quiet,  alluring  water  of  the  lower 
Green  River.  Without  a  doubt  each  successful  expedi- 
tion is  responsible  in  a  way  for  others'  attempts.  In 
nearly  every  instance  the  unfortunate  ones  have  under- 
estimated the  danger,  and  have  attempted  the  passage 
with  inadequate  boats,  such  as  Smith  had  for  instance, 
undecked  and  without  air  chambers.  Both  of  these  are 
imperative  for  safety. 

We  had  the  benefit  of  the  experiences  of  others.  In 
addition,  our  years  of  work  in  the  canyons  had  robbed 
them  of  their  imaginary  dangers,  and  —  while  we  trust 
that  we  are  not  entirely  without  imagination  —  much  of 
their  weirdness  and  glamour  with  which  they  are  insep- 
arable to  the  idealist  and  the  impressionist.  Each  of 
these  upsets  could  have  been  avoided  by  a  portage  had  we 


242   THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

desired  to  make  one,  but  success  in  other  rapids  made  us 
a  little  reckless  and  ready  to  take  a  chance. 

Beyond  getting  our  flour  wet  on  the  outside,  we  suf- 
fered very  little  loss  to  our  cargo.  We  placed  the  two 
flour  sacks  beside  the  fires  each  evening,  until  the  wet 
flour  dried  to  a  crust.  We  continued  to  use  out  of  the 
centre  of  the  sacks  as  though  nothing  had  ever  hap- 
pened. 

Bert  and  I  each  had  a  little  cough  the  next  morning, 
but  it  disappeared  by  noon.  Beyond  that,  we  suffered 
no  great  inconvenience  from  our  enforced  bath.  Sleep- 
ing in  the  open,  with  plenty  of  healthful  exercise,  kept  us 
physically  fit. 

The  cold  air  and  the  cold  water  did  not  seem  to  bother 
the  others,  but  I  could  not  get  comfortably  warm  during 
this  cold  snap.  Added  to  this,  it  took  me  some  time  to 
get  over  my  scare,  and  I  could  see  all  kinds  of  danger, 
in  rapids,  where  Emery  could  see  none.  I  insisted  on 
untying  the  photographic  cases  from  the  boats,  and 
carrying  them  around  a  number  of  rapids  before  we  ran 
them.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  no  upset  oc- 
curred in  these  rapids. 

Then  came  a  cold  day,  with  a  raw  wind  sweeping  up 
the  river.  A  coating  of  ice  covered  the  boats  and  the 
oars.  We  had  turned  directly  to  the  north  along  the 
base  of  Powell's  plateau,  and  were  nearing  the  end  of  a 
second  granite  gorge,  with  violent  rapids  and  jagged 


WHAT  CHRISTMAS  EVE  BROUGHT  243 

rocks.  Emery  made  the  remark  that  he  had  not  had 
a  swim  for  some  time.  In  a  half-hour  we  came  to  a 
rapid  with  two  twelve-foot  waves  in  the  centre  of  the 
stream,  with  a  projecting  point  above  that  would  have 
to  be  passed,  before  we  could  pull  out  of  the  swift-running 
centre.  Emery  got  his  swim  there.  I  was  just  behind 
and  was  more  fortunate.  I  never  saw  anything  more 
quickly  done.  Before  the  boat  was  fully  overturned 
he  swung  an  oar,  so  that  it  stuck  out  at  an  angle  from 
the  side  of  the  boat,  and  used  the  oar  for  a  step ;  an  in- 
stant later  he  had  cut  the  oar  loose,  and  steered  toward 
the  shore.  Bert  threw  him  a  rope  from  the  shore,  and 
he  was  pulled  in.  He  was  wearing  a  thin  rubber  coat 
fitting  tightly  about  his  wrists,  tied  about  his  neck,  and 
belted  at  the  waist.  This  protected  him  so  thoroughly 
that  he  was  only  wet  from  the  waist  down. 

If  we  were  a  little  inclined  to  be  proud  of  our  record 
above  Bright  Angel  we  had  forgotten  all  about  it  by  this 
time.  We  were  scarcely  more  than  sixty  miles  from  home 
and  had  experienced  three  upsets  and  a  smashed  boat, 
all  in  one  week. 

Just  at  the  end  of  the  second  granite  section  we  made 
our  first  portage  since  leaving  Bright  Angel.  Bert  and 
I  worked  on  the  boats,  while  Emery  cooked  the  evening 
meal. 

Hot  rice  soup,  flavoured  with  a  can  of  prepared  meat, 
was  easily  and  quickly  prepared,  and  formed  one  of  the 


244  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

usual  dishes  at  these  meals.  It  contained  a  lot  of  nu- 
triment, and  the  rice  took  up  but  little  space  in  the  boats. 
Sometimes  the  meat  was  omitted,  and  raisins  were  sub- 
stituted. Prepared  baked  beans  were  a  staple  dish, 
but  were  not  in  our  supply  on  this  last  part  of  the  trip. 
We  often  made  "hot  cakes"  twice  a  day;  an  excuse  for 
eating  a  great  deal  of  butter  and  honey,  or  syrup.  None 
of  these  things  were  luxuries.  They  were  the  best  food- 
stuff we  could  carry.  We  seemed  to  crave  sweet  stuff, 
and  used  quantities  of  sugar.  We  could  carry  eggs, 
when  packed  in  sawdust,  without  trouble  but  did  not 
carry  many.  We  had  little  meat ;  what  we  had  was 
bacon,  and  prepared  meats  of  the  lunch  variety.  Cheese 
was  our  main  substitute  for  meat.  It  was  easily  carried 
and  kept  well.  Dried  peaches  or  apricots  were  on  the 
bill  for  nearly  every  meal,  each  day's  allowance  being 
cooked  the  evening  before.  We  tried  several  condensed 
or  emergency  foods,  but  discarded  them  all  but  one, 
for  various  reasons.  The  exception  was  Erbeswurst,  a 
patent  dried  soup  preparation.  Other  prepared  soups 
were  carried  also.  I  must  not  forget  the  morning  cereal. 
It  was  Cream  of  Wheat,  easily  prepared ;  eaten  - 
not  served,  perhaps  devoured  would  be  a  better  word  — 
with  sugar  and  condensed  cream,  as  long  as  it  lasted, 
then  with  butter.  Any  remainder  from  breakfast  was 
fried  for  other  meals.  Each  evening,  we  would  make 
some  baking-powder  biscuit  in  a  frying-pan.  A  Dutch 


WHAT  CHRISTMAS  EVE  BROUGHT  245 

oven  is  better,  but  had  too  much  weight.  The  appella- 
tion for  such  bread  is  "flapjack"  or  "dough-god."  When 
I  did  the  baking  they  were  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
made.  Cocoa,  which  was  nourishing,  often  took  the 
place  of  coffee.  In  fact  our  systems  craved  just  what 
was  most  needed  to  build  up  muscle  and  create  heat. 
We  found  it  was  useless  to  try  to  catch  fish  after  the 
weather  became  cold.  The  fish  would  not  bite. 

On  the  upper  end  of  our  journey  we  carried  no  to- 
bacco, as  it  happened  that  Jimmy  as  well  as  ourselves 
were  not  tobacco  users.  There  were  no  alcoholic  stimu- 
lants. When  Bert  joined  us,  a  small  flask,  for  medicinal 
purposes  only,  was  taken  along.  The  whiskey  was 
scarcely  touched  at  this  time.  Bert  enjoyed  a  pipe  after 
his  meals,  but  continued  to  keep  good-natured  even 
when  his  tobacco  got  wet,  so  tobacco  was  not  absolutely 
necessary  to  him. 

Uninteresting  and  unromantic  these  things  may  be, 
but  they  were  most  important  to  us.  We  were  only 
sorry  the  supply  was  not  larger.  While  we  never  stinted 
ourselves,  or  cut  the  allowance  of  food,  the  amount  was 
growing  smaller  every  day,  and  it  was  not  a  question 
any  more  whether  we  would  go  out  or  not,  to  get  pro- 
visions, to  "rustle"  as  Bert  called  it,  but  where  we  would 
go  out.  We  might  go  up  Cataract  Creek  or  Ha  Va  Su 
Creek,  as  it  is  sometimes  called.  We  had  been  to  the 
mouth  of  this  canyon  on  foot,  so  there  would  be  no  dan- 


246  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

ger  of  missing  it.  The  Ha  Va  Supai  Indians,  about  two 
hundred  in  number,  lived  in  this  lateral  canyon,  about 
seven  or  eight  miles  from  the  river.  An  agent  and  a 
farmer  lived  with  them,  and  might  be  able  to  sell  us  some 
provisions ;  if  not,  it  would  be  fifty  miles  back  to  our 
home.  The  trail  was  much  more  direct  than  the  river. 
The  great  drawback  to  this  course  was  the  fact  that  Ha 
Va  Su  Canyon,  sheer-walled,  deep,  and  narrow,  contained 
a  number  of  waterfalls,  one  of  them  about  175  feet  high. 
The  precipice  over  which  it  fell  was  nothing  but  a  mineral 
deposit  from  the  water,  building  higher  every  year. 
Formerly  this  was  impassable,  until  some  miners,  after 
enlarging  a  sloping  cave,  had  cut  a  winding  stairway  in 
it,  which  allowed  a  descent  to  be  made  to  the  bottom  of 
the  fall.  A  recent,  storm  had  remodelled  all  the  falls  in 
Cataract  Creek  Canyon,  cutting  out  the  travertine  in 
some  places,  piling  it  up  in  others.  A  great  mass  of 
cottonwood  trees  were  also  mixed  with  the  debris.  The 
village,  too,  had  been  washed  away  and  was  then  being 
rebuilt.  We  had  been  told  that  the  tunnel  was  filled  up, 
and  as  far  as  we  knew  no  one  had  been  to  the  river  since 
the  flood. 

The  other  outlet  was  Diamond  Creek  Canyon,  much 
farther  down  the  river.  We  would  decide  when  we  got 
to  Ha  Va  Su  just  what  we  would  do. 

Tapeets  Creek,  one  mile  below  our  camp,  —  a  stream 
which  has  masqueraded  under  the  title  of  Thunder 


WHAT  CHRISTMAS  EVE  BROUGHT  247 

River,  and  about  which  there  has  been  considerable 
speculation,  —  proved  to  be  a  stream  a  little  smaller  than 
Bright  Angel  Creek,  flowing  through  a  narrow  slot  in 
the  rocks,  and  did  not  fall  sheer  into  the  river,  as  has 
been  reported.  Perhaps  a  small  cascade  known  as  Sur- 
prise Falls  which  we  passed  the  next  day  has  been  con- 
fused with  Tapeets  Creek.  This  stream  corkscrews  down 
through  a  narrow  crevice  and  falls  about  two  hundred 
feet,  close  to  the  river's  edge.  We  are  told  that  the  upper 
end  of  Tapeets  Creek  is  similar  to  this,  but  on  a  much 
larger  scale. 

Just  opposite  this  fall  a  big  mountain-sheep  jumped 
from  under  an  overhanging  ledge  close  to  the  water,  and 
stared  curiously  at  us,  as  though  he  wondered  what 
strange  things  those  were  coming  down  with  the  current. 
It  is  doubtful  if  he  ever  saw  a  human  being  before.  This 
sight  sent  us  scrambling  in  our  cases  for  cameras  and 
firearms ;  and  it  was  not  the  game  laws,  but  a  rusted 
trigger  on  the  six-shooter  instead,  that  saved  the  sheep. 
He  finally  took  alarm  and  scampered  away  over  the  rocks, 
and  we  had  no  mutton  stew  that  night. 

We  had  one  night  of  heavy  rain,  and  morning  revealed 
a  little  snow  within  three  hundred  feet  of  the  river,  while 
a  heavy  white  blanket  covered  the  upper  cliffs.  It  con- 
tinued to  snow  on  top,  and  rained  on  us  nearly  all  this 
day.  Emery  took  this  opportunity  to  get  the  drop  of 
moisture  out  of  the  lens,  and  put  the  camera  in  such  shape 


248  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

that   we    could   proceed   with   our   picture    making.     A 
short  run  was  made  after  this  work  was  completed. 

The  camp  we  were  just  leaving  was  about  three  miles 
above  Kanab  Canyon.  The  granite  was  behind  us, 
disappearing  with  a  steep  descent  much  as  it  had  emerged 
at  the  Hance  Trail.  There  was  also  a  small  deposit  of 
algonkian.  This  too  had  been  passed,  and  we  were  back 
in  the  limestone  and  sandstone  walls  similar  to  the  lower 
end  of  Marble  Canyon.  While  the  formations  were  the 
same,  the  canyon  differed.  The  layers  were  thicker, 
the  red  sandstone  and  the  marble  walls  were  equally 
sheer;  there  was  no  plateau  between.  What  plateau 
this  canyon  contained  lay  on  top  of  the  red  sandstone. 
Few  peaks  rose  above  this.  The  canyon  had  completed 
its  northern  run  and  was  turning  back  again  to  the  west- 
southwest  with  a  great  sweep  or  circle.  Less  than  an 
hour's  work  brought  us  to  Kanab  Canyon. 


PULLING   CLEAR  OF   A  ROCK. 


Copyright  oy  fiuio  Bros. 


Copyright  by  Kotb  B 


A   SHOWER   BATH. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SHORT   OF    PROVISIONS    IN   A    SUNLESS    GORGE 

IN  the  mud  at  Kanab  Canyon  we  saw  an  old  foot- 
print of  some  person  who  had  come  down  to  the  river 
through  this  narrow,  gloomy  gorge.  It  was  here  that 
Major  Powell  terminated  his  second  voyage,  on  account 
of  extreme  high  water.  A  picture  they  made  showed 
their  boats  floated  up  in  this  side  canyon.  Our  stage 
was  much  lower  than  this.  F.  S.  Dellenbaugh,  the 
author  of  "A  Canyon  Voyage,"  was  a  member  of  this 
second  expedition.  This  book  had  been  our  guide  down 
to  this  point ;  we  could  not  have  asked  for  a  better 
one.  Below  here  we  had  a  general  idea  of  the  nature  of 
the  river,  and  had  a  set  of  the  government  maps,  but  we 
had  neglected  to  provide  ourselves  with  detailed  infor- 
mation such  as  this  volume  gave  us. 

Evening  of  the  following  day  found  us  at  Cataract 
Creek  Canyon,  but  with  a  stage  of  water  in  the  river 
nearly  fifty  feet  lower  than  that  which  we  had  seen  a 
few  years  before.  The  narrow  entrance  of  this  great 

canyon  gives  no  hint  of  what  it  is  like  a  few  miles  above. 

249 


250  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

The  Indian  village  is  in  the  bottom  of  a  3OOO-foot 
canyon,  half  a  mile  wide  and  three  miles  long,  covered 
with  fertile  fields,  peach  and  apricot  orchards.  It  even 
contained  a  few  fig  trees.  Below  the  village  the  canyon 
narrowed  to  a  hundred  yards,  with  a  level  bottom,  cov- 
ered with  a  tangle  of  wild  grape  vines,  cactus,  and 
cottonwood  trees.  This  section  contained  the  two  larg- 
est falls,  and  came  to  an  end  about  four  miles  below  the 
first  fall.  Then  the  canyon  narrowed,  deep  and  gloomy, 
until  there  was  little  room  for  anything  but  the  powerful, 
rapidly  descending  stream.  At  the  lower  end  it  was  often 
waist  deep  and  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  wide.  It  was  no 
easy  task  to  go  through  this  gorge.  The  stream  had  to 
be  crossed  several  times.  The  canyon  terminated  in  an 
extremely  narrow  gorge  2500  feet  deep,  dark  and  gloomy, 
one  of  the  most  impressive  gorges  we  have  ever  seen.  The 
main  canyon  was  similar,  with  a  few  breaks  on  the  sides, 
those  breaks  being  ledges,  or  narrow  sloping  benches  that 
would  extend  for  miles,  only  to  be  brought  to  an  abrupt 
end  by  side  canyons.  There  are  many  mountain-sheep 
in  this  section,  but  we  saw  none  either  time.  We  could 
see  many  fresh  tracks  where  they  had  followed  these 
ledges  around,  and  had  gone  up  the  narrow  side  canyon. 
It  was  cold  in  the  main  canyon,  and  no  doubt  the  sheep 
could  be  found  on  the  plateaus,  which  were  more  open, 
and  would  get  sun  when  the  sun  shone.  This  plateau 
was  2500  feet  above  us.  At  the  turn  of  the  canyon  we 


Copyright  by  Kolb  Bros. 

GRAND    CANYON  AT   MOUTH    OF    HA    VA    SU    CANYON.       MEDIUM    HIGH    WATER. 
NOTE   FIGURE.     FRONTISPIECE   SHOWS   SAME   PLACE  IN  LOW  WATER. 


SHORT  OF  PROVISIONS  IN  A  SUNLESS  GORGE  251 

could  see  the  other  walls  2000  feet  above  that.  The 
rapids  in  the  section  just  passed  had  been  widely  sep- 
arated and  compared  well  with  those  of  Marble  Canyon, 
not  the  worst  we  had  seen,  but  far  from  being  tame. 
There  was  plenty  of  shore  room  at  each  of  these  rapids. 
Cactus  of  different  species  was  now  a  feature  of  the 
scenery.  The  ocotilla  or  candlewood  with  long,  lash-like 
stalks  springing  from  a  common  centre  —  that  cactus, 
which,  when  dried,  needs  only  a  lighted  match  to  set  it 
afire  —  flourishes  in  the  rocky  ledges.  A  species  of  small 
barrel-cactus  about  the  size  of  a  man's  head,  with  fluted 
sides,  or  symmetrical  vertical  rows  of  small  thorned  lumps 
converging  at  the  top  of  the  "  nigger-head,"  as  they  are 
sometimes  called,  grows  in  great  numbers  in  crevices  on 
the  walls.  The  delicate  "  pin  cushion"  gathered  in 
clusters  of  myriad  small  spiny  balls.  The  prickly  pear, 
here  in  Ha  Va  Su  Canyon,  were  not  the  starved,  shrivelled, 
mineral-tinted  cactus  such  as  we  found  at  the  beginning 
of  our  trip.  Instead  they  were  green  and  flourishing, 
with  large  fleshy  leaves  joining  on  to  each  other  until 
they  rise  to  a  height  of  three  feet  or  more  and  cover  large 
patches  of  ground  to  the  utter  exclusion  of  all  other 
growth.  What  a  display  of  yellow  and  red  these  desert 
plants  put  forth  when  they  are  in  bloom  !  A  previous 
visit  to  Ha  Va  Su  was  made  in  the  month  of  May  when 
every  group  of  prickly  pear  was  a  riot  of  pure  colour.  All 
this  prolific  growth  is  made  possible  by  the  extreme  heat 


252  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

of  the  summer  months  aided  in  the  case  of  those  plants 
and  trees  which  flourish  in  the  fertile  soil  of  Ha  Va  Su 
by  the  sub-irrigation  and  the  spray  from  the  fall. 

After  making  an  inventory  of  our  provisions  we 
concluded  not  to  try  the  tedious  and  uncertain  trip  up 
Cataract  Creek.  With  care  and  good  fortune  we  would 
have  enough  provisions  to  last  us  to  Diamond  Creek. 

With  our  run  the  next  day  the  inner  gorge  continued 
to  deepen,  the  walls  drew  closer  together,  so  that  we 
now  had  a  narrow  gorge  hemming  us  in  with  3OOO-foot 
walls  from  which  there  was  no  escape.  They  were  about 
a  fourth  of  a  mile  apart  at  the  top.  A  boat  at  the  foot 
of  one  of  these  walls  was  merely  an  atom.  The  total 
depth  of  the  canyon  was  close  to  4500  feet.  There  is 
nothing  on  earth  to  which  this  gorge  can  be  compared. 
Storm-clouds  lowered  into  the  chasm  in  the  early  morning. 
The  sky  was  overcast  and  threatening.  We  were  travel- 
ling directly  west  again,  and  no  sunlight  entered  here, 
even  when  the  sun  shone.  The  walls  had  lost  their 
brighter  reds,  and  what  colour  they  had  was  dark  and 
sombre,  a  dirty  brown  and  dark  green  predominating. 
The  mythology  of  the  ancients,  with  their  Inferno  and 
their  River  Styx,  could  hardly  conjure  anything  more 
supernatural  or  impressive  than  this  gloomy  gorge. 

There  were  a  few  bad  rapids.  One  or  two  had  no 
shore,  others  had  an  inclination  to  run  under  one  wall, 
and  had  to  be  run  very  carefully.  If  we  could  not  get 


SHORT  OF   PROVISIONS  IN  A  SUNLESS  GORGE  253 

down  alongside  of  a  rapid,  we  could  usually  climb  out  on 
the  walls  at  the  head  of  the  rapid  and  look  it  over  from 
that  vantage  point.  The  one  who  climbed  out  would 
signal  directions  to  the  others,  who  would  run  it  at  once, 
and  continue  on  to  the  next  rapid.  They  would  have  its 
course  figured  out  when  the  last  boat  arrived. 

One  canyon  entered  from  the  left,  level  on  the  bottom, 
and  about  one  hundred  feet  wide;  it  might  be  a  means 
of  outlet  from  this  canyon,  but  it  is  doubtful,  for  the 
marble  has  a  way  of  ending  abruptly  and  dropping  sheer, 
with  a  polished  surface  that  is  impossible  to  climb. 

New  Year's  Eve  was  spent  in  this  section.  The  camp 
was  exceptionally  good.  A  square-sided,  oblong  section 
of  rock  about  fifty  feet  long  had  fallen  forward  from  the 
base  of  the  cliff.  This  left  a  cave-like  opening  which  was 
closed  at  one  end  with  our  dark-room  tent.  High  water 
had  placed  a  sandy  floor,  now  thoroughly  dry,  in  the 
bottom.  Under  the  circumstances  we  could  hardly  ask 
for  anything  better.  Of  driftwood  there  was  none, 
and  our  camp-fires  were  made  of  mesquite  which  grew  in 
ledges  in  the  rocks ;  in  one  case  gathered  with  a  great 
deal  of  labour  on  the  shore  opposite  our  camp,  and  ferried 
across  on  our  boats.  If  a  suitable  camp  was  found  after 
3.30  P.M.,  we  kept  it,  rather  than  run  the  risk  of  not  find- 
ing another  until  after  dark. 

Another  day,  January  I,  1912,  brought  us  to  the  end  of 
this  gorge  and  into  a  wider  and  more  open  canyon,  with 


254  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

the  country  above  covered  with  volcanic  peaks  and 
cinder  cones.  Blow-holes  had  broken  through  the  can- 
yon walls  close  to  the  top  of  the  gorge,  pouring  streams  of 
lava  down  its  sides,  filling  the  bottom  of  the  canyon  with 
several  hundred  feet  of  lava.  This  condition  extended 
down  the  canyon  for  twenty  miles  or  more.  Judging 
by  the  amount  of  lava  the  eruption  must  have  continued 
for  a  great  while.  Could  one  imagine  a  more  wonderful 
sight  —  the  turbulent  stream  checked  by  the  fire  flood 
from  above !  What  explosions  and  rending  of  rocks 
there  must  have  been  when  the  two  elements  met.  The 
river  would  be  backed  up  for  a  hundred  miles  !  Each 
would  be  shoved  on  from  behind  !  There  was  no  escape  ! 
They  must  fight  it  out  until  one  or  the  other  conquered. 
But  the  fire  could  not  keep  up  forever,  and,  though  tri- 
umphant for  a  period,  it  finally  succumbed,  and  the  stream 
proceeded  to  cut  down  to  the  original  level. 

Two  miles  below  the  first  lava  flow  we  saw  what  we 
took  to  be  smoke  and  hurried  down  \vondering  if  we  would 
find  a  prospector  or  a  cattle  rustler.  We  agreed,  if  it  was 
the  latter,  to  let  them  off  if  they  would  share  with  us. 
But  the  smoke  turned  out  to  be  warm  springs,  one  of 
them  making  quite  a  stream  which  fell  twenty  feet  into 
the  river.  Here  in  the  river  was  a  cataract,  called  Lava 
Falls,  so  filled  with  jagged  pieces  of  the  black  rock  that 
a  portage  was  advisable.  The  weather  had  not  moder- 
ated any  in  the  last  week,  and  we  were  in  the  water  a 


SHORT  OF  PROVISIONS  IN  A  SUNLESS  GORGE  255 

great  deal  as  we  lifted  and  lined  the  boats  over  the  rocks 
at  the  edge  of  the  rapids.  We  would  work  in  the  water 
until  numbed  with  the  cold,  then  would  go  down  to  the 
warm  springs  and  thaw  out  for  a  while.  This  was  a  little 
quicker  than  standing  by  the  fire,  but  the  relief  was  only 
temporary.  This  portage  was  finished  the  next  morning. 

Another  portage  was  made  this  same  day,  and  the 
wide  canyon  where  Major  Powell  found  some  Indian 
gardens  was  passed  in  the  afternoon.  The  Indians  were 
not  at  home  when  the  Major  called.  His  party  felt 
they  were  justified  in  helping  themselves  to  some  pump- 
kins or  squash,  for  their  supplies  were  very  low,  and  they 
could  not  go  out  to  a  settlement  —  as  we  expected  to  do 
in  a  day  or  two  —  and  replenish  them. 

We  found  the  fish  would  not  bite,  just  as  our  friend, 
the  miner,  had  said,  but  we  did  succeed  in  landing  a 
fourteen-pound  salmon,  in  one  of  the  deep  pools  not  many 
miles  from  this  point,  and  it  was  served  up  in  steaks  the 
next  day.  If  our  method  of  securing  the  salmon  was 
unsportsmanlike,  we  excused  ourselves  for  the  methods 
used,  just  as  Major  Powell  justified  his  appropriation  of 
the  Indians'  squash.  If  that  fish  was  ever  needed,  it 
was  then,  and  it  was  a  most  welcome  addition  to  our 
rapidly  disappearing  stock  of  provisions.  We  were  only 
sorry  we  had  not  taken  more  "bait." 

The  next  day  we  did  see  a  camp-fire,  and  on  climbing 
the  shore,  found  a  little  old  prospector,  clad  in  tattered 


256  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

garments,  sitting  in  a  little  dugout  about  five  feet  square, 
which  he  had  shovelled  out  of  the  sand.  He  had  roofed 
it  with  mesquite  and  an  old  blanket.  A  rapid,  just  below, 
made  so  much  noise  that  he  did  not  hear  us  until  we  were 
before  his  door.  He  looked  at  the  rubber  coats  and  the 
life-preservers,  then  said,  with  a  matter-of-fact  drawl, 
"Well,  you  fellows  must  have  come  by  the  river  !"  After 
talking  awhile  he  asked  : 

"What  do  you  call  yourselves  ?"  This  question 
would  identify  him  as  an  old-time  Westerner  if  we  did 
not  already  know  it.  At  one  time  it  was  not  considered 
discreet  to  ask  any  one  in  these  parts  what  their  name 
was,  or  where  they  were  from.  He  gave  us  a  great  deal 
of  information  about  the  country,  and  said  that  Diamond 
Creek  was  about  six  miles  below.  He  had  come  across 
from  Diamond  Creek  by  a  trail  over  a  thousand  foot 
ridge,  with  a  burro  and  a  pack  mule,  a  month  before. 
He  had  just  been  out  near  the  top  on  the  opposite  side, 
doing  some  assessment  work  on  some  copper  claims, 
crossing  the  river  on  a  raft,  and  stated  that  on  a  previous 
occasion  he  had  been  drawn  over  the  rapid,  but  got  out. 

When  he  learned  that  we  had  come  through  Utah,  he 
stated  that  he  belonged  near  Vernal,  and  had  once  been 
upset  in  the  upper  canyons,  about  twenty  years  before. 
He  proved  to  be  the  Snyder  of  whom  we  had  heard  at 
Linwood,  and  also  from  the  Chews,  who  had  given  him  a 
horse  so  he  could  get  out  over  the  mountains.  Yet  here 


SHORT  OF  PROVISIONS  IN  A  SUNLESS  GORGE  257 

he  was,  a  thousand  miles  below,  cheerful  as  a  cricket, 
and  sure  that  a  few  months  at  the  most  would  bring  him 
unlimited  wealth.  He  asked  us  to  "share  his  chuck" 
with  him,  but  we  could  see  nothing  but  a  very  little  flour, 
and  a  little  bacon,  so  pleaded  haste  and  pushed  on  for 
Diamond  Creek. 

The  mouth  of  this  canyon  did  not  look  unlike  others 
we  had  seen  in  this  section,  and  one  could  easily  pass  it 
without  knowing  that  it  ran  back  with  a  gentle  slope  for 
twenty  miles,  and  that  a  wagon  road  came  down  close 
to  the  river.  It  contained  a  small,  clear  stream.  The 
original  tourist  camp  in  the  Grand  Canyon  was  located  up 
this  canyon.  We  packed  all  our  plates  and  films,  ready 
to  take  them  out.  The  supplies  left  in  the  boats  when 
we  went  out  the  next  morning  were : 

5  pounds  of  flour,  partly  wet  and  crusted. 

2  pounds  mildewed  Cream  of  Wheat. 

3  or  4  cans  (rusty)  of  dried  beef. 
Less  than  one  pound  of  sugar. 

We  carried  a  lunch  out  with  us.  This  was  running 
a  little  too  close  for  comfort. 

The  mouth  of  Diamond  Creek  Canyon  was  covered 
with  a  growth  of  large  mesquite  trees.  Cattle  trails 
wound  through  this  thorny  thicket  down  to  the  river's 
edge.  The  trees  thinned  out  a  short  distance  back,  and 
the  canyon  widened  as  it  receded  from  the  river.  A  half 
mile  back  from  the  river  was  the  old  slab  building  that 


258  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

had  served  as  headquarters  for  the  campers.  Here  the 
canyon  divided,  one  containing  the  small  stream  heading 
in  the  high  walls  to  the  southeast ;  while  the  other  branch 
ran  directly  south,  heading  near  the  railroad  at  the  little 
flag-station  of  Peach  Springs,  twenty-three  miles  distant. 
It  was  flat-bottomed,  growing  wider  and  more  valley- 
like  with  every  mile,  but  not  especially  interesting  to 
one  who  had  seen  the  glory  of  all  the  canyons.  Floods 
had  spoiled  what  had  once  been  a  very  passable  stage 
road,  dropping  4000  feet  in  twenty  miles,  down  to  the 
very  depths  of  the  Grand  Canyon.  Some  cattle,  driven 
down  by  the  snows,  were  sunning  themselves  near  the 
building.  Our  appearance  filled  them  with  alarm,  and 
they  "high  tailed  it"  to  use  a  cattle  man's  expression, 
scampering  up  the  rocky  slopes. 

A  deer's  track  was  seen  in  a  snow-drift  away  from  the 
river.  On  the  sloping  walls  in  the  more  open  sections  of 
this  valley  grew  the  stubby-thorned  chaparral.  The  hack- 
berry  and  the  first  specimens  of  the  palo  verde  were  found 
in  this  vicinity.  The  mesquite  trees  seen  at  the  mouth 
of  the  canyon  were  real  trees  —  about  the  size  of  a  large 
apple  tree  —  not  the  small  bushes  we  had  seen  at  the 
Little  Colorado.  All  the  growth  was  changing  as  we 
neared  the  lower  altitudes  and  the  mouth  of  the  Grand 
Canyon,  being  that  of  the  hot  desert,  which  had  found  this 
artery  or  avenue  leading  to  the  heart  of  the  rocky  pla- 
teaus and  had  pushed  its  way  into  this  foreign  land. 


SHORT  OF  PROVISIONS  IN  A  SUNLESS  GORGE  259 

Even  the  animal  life  of  the  desert  has  followed  this 
same  road.  Occasional  Gila  monsters,  which  are  sup- 
posed to  belong  to  the  hot  desert  close  to  the  Mexico  line, 
have  been  found  at  Diamond  Creek,  and  lizards  of  the 
Mojave  Desert  have  been  seen  as  far  north  as  the  foot  of 
Bright  Angel  Trail. 

But  we  saw  little  animal  life  at  this  time.  There  were 
occasional  otters  disporting  themselves  near  our  boats,  in 
one  instance  unafraid,  in  another  raising  a  gray-bearded 
head  near  our  boat  with  a  startled  look  in  his  eyes. 
Then  he  turned  and  began  to  swim  on  the  surface  until 
our  laughter  caused  him  to  dive.  Tracks  of  the  civet- 
cat  or  the  ring-tailed  cat  —  that  large-eyed  and  large-eared 
animal,  somewhat  like  a  raccoon  and  much  resembling  a 
weasel  —  were  often  seen  along  the  shores.  The  gray  fox, 
the  wild-cat,  and  the  coyote,  all  natives  of  this  land,  kept 
to  the  higher  pinon-covered  hills.  The  beaver  seldom 
penetrates  into  the  deep  canyons  because  of  the  lack  of 
vegetation,  but  is  found  in  all  sections  in  the  open  coun- 
try from  the  headwaters  to  the  delta  in  Mexico. 

We  went  out  by  this  canyon  on  January  the  5th,  and 
returned  Sunday,  January  the  8th,  bringing  enough  pro- 
visions to  last  us  to  the  end  of  the  big  canyon.  We  im- 
agined we  would  have  no  trouble  getting  what  we  needed 
in  the  open  country  below  that.  We  sent  some  telegrams 
and  received  encouraging  answers  to  them  before  re- 
turning. With  us  were  two  brothers,  John  and  Will 


260  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

Nelson,  cattle  men  who  had  given  us  a  cattle  man's 
welcome  when  we  arrived  at  Peach  Springs.  There  was 
no  store  at  Peach  Springs,  and  they  supplied  us  with  the 
provisions  that  we  brought  back.  They  drove  a  wagon 
for  about  half  the  distance,  then  the  roads  became  im- 
passable, so  they  unhitched  and  packed  their  bedding  and 
our  provisions  in  to  the  river.  The  Nelsons  were  anxious 
to  see  us  run  a  rapid  or  two. 

We  found  the  nights  to  be  just  as  cold  on  top  as  they 
ever  get  in  this  section  —  a  little  below  zero  —  although 
the  midday  sun  was  warm  enough  to  melt  the  snow  and 
make  it  slushy.  I  arrived  at  the  river  with  my  feet  so 
swollen  that  I  had  difficulty  in  walking,  a  condition 
brought  on  by  a  previous  freezing  they  had  received, 
being  wet  continually  by  the  icy  water  in  my  boat  — 
which  was  leaking  badly  since  we  left  Bright  Angel  — 
and  the  walk  out  through  the  slush.  I  was  glad  there  was 
little  walking  to  do  when  once  at  the  river,  and  changed  my 
shoes  for  arctics,  which  were  more  roomy  and  less  painful. 

On  the  upper  part  of  our  trip  there  were  occasional 
days  when  Emery  was  not  feeling  his  best,  while  I  had 
been  most  fortunate  and  had  little  complaint  to  make ; 
now  things  seemed  to  be  reversed.  Emery,  and  Bert 
too,  were  having  the  time  of  their  lives,  while  I  was 
"getting  mine"  in  no  small  doses.1 

1  While  Major  Powell  was  making  his  second  voyage  of  exploration,    another 
party  was  toiling  up  these  canyons  towing  their  boats  from  the  precipitous  shores. 


SHORT  OF  PROVISIONS  IN  A  SUNLESS  GORGE  261 

We  had  always  imagined  that  the  Grand  Canyon 
lost  its  depth  and  impressiveness  below  Diamond  Creek. 
We  were  to  learn  our  mistake.  The  colour  was  missing, 
that  was  true,  for  the  marble  and  sandstone  walls  were 
brown,  dirty,  or  colourless,  with  few  of  the  pleasing  tones 
of  the  canyon  found  in  the  upper  end.  But  it  was  still 
the  Grand  Canyon.  We  were  in  the  granite  again  — 
granite  just  as  deep  as  any  we  had  seen  above,  it  may 
have  been  a  little  deeper,  and  in  most  cases  it  was  very- 
sheer.  There  was  very  little  plateau,  the  limestone  and 
sandstone  rose  above  that,  just  as  they  had  above 
Kanab  Canyon.  The  light-coloured  walls  could  not  be 
seen. 

Many  of  the  rapids  of  this  lower  section  were  just  as 

This  party  was  under  the  leadership  of  Lieutenant  Wheeler  of  the  U.  S.  Army.  The  party 
was  large,  composed  of  twenty  men,  including  a  number  of  Mojave  Indians,  in  the 
river  expedition,  while  others  were  sent  overland  with  supplies  to  the  mouth  of  Diamond 
Creek.  By  almost  superhuman  effort  they  succeeded  in  getting  their  boats  up  the 
canyon  as  far  as  Diamond  Creek.  While  there  is  no  doubt  that  they  reached  this 
point,  there  were  times  when  we  could  hardly  believe  it  was  possible  when  we  saw 
the  walls  they  would  have  to  climb  in  this  granite  gorge.  In  some  places  there 
seemed  to  be  no  place  less  than  five  hundred  feet  above  the  river  where  they  could 
secure  a  foothold.  Their  method  was  to  carry  a  rope  over  these  places,  then  pull  the 
boats  up  through  the  rapids  by  main  force.  It  would  be  just  as  easy  to  pull  a  heavy 
rowboat  up  the  gorge  of  Niagara,  as  through  some  of  these  rapids.  Their  best  plan, 
by  far,  would  have  been  to  haul  their  boats  in  at  Diamond  Creek  and  make  the  descent, 
as  they  did  after  reaching  this  point.  The  only  advantage  their  method  gave  them  was 
a  knowledge  of  what  they  would  meet  with  on  the  downstream  run.  Lieutenant  Wheeler 
professed  to  disbelieve  that  Major  Powell  had  descended  below  Diamond  Creek,  and 
called  his  voyage  the  completion  of  the  exploration  of  the  Colorado  River.  In  a  four 
days'  run  they  succeeded  in  covering  the  same  distance  that  had  taken  four  weeks  of 
endless  toil,  to  bring  their  boats  up  to  this  point. 


262  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

bad  as  any  we  had  gone  over ;  one  or  two  have  been  con- 
sidered worse  by  different  parties.  Two  hours  after 
leaving  the  Nelsons  we  were  halted  by  a  rapid  that  made 
us  catch  our  breath.  It  was  in  two  sections  —  the  lower 
one  so  full  of  jagged  rocks  that  it  meant  a  wrecked  boat. 
The  upper  part  fell  about  twenty  feet  we  should  judge 
and  was  bad  enough.  It  was  a  question  if  wre  could 
run  this  and  keep  from  going  over  the  lower  part.  If  we 
made  a  portage,  our  boats  would  have  to  be  taken  three 
or  four  hundred  feet  up  the  side  of  the  cliff.  The  rapid 
was  too  strong  to  line  a  boat  down.  We  concluded  to 
risk  running  the  first  part.  Bert  climbed  to  the  head 
of  the  second  section  of  the  rapid,  where  a  projecting  point 
of  granite  narrowed  the  stream,  and  formed  a  quiet  eddy 
just  above  the  foaming  plunge.  If  we  could  keep  out 
of  the  centre  and  land  here  we  would  be  safe.  Our  shoes 
were  removed,  our  trousers  were  rolled  to  our  knees  and 
we  removed  our  coats.  If  we  had  to  swim  there,  we 
were  going  to  be  prepared.  The  life-preservers  were 
well  inflated,  and  tied ;  then  we  made  the  plunge,  Emery 
taking  the  lead,  I  following  close  behind.  Our  plan  was 
to  keep  as  near  the  shore  as  possible.  Once  I  thought 
it  was  all  over  when  I  saw  the  Edith  pulled  directly  for  a 
rock  in  spite  of  all  Emery  could  do  to  pull  away.  Nothing 
but  a  rebounding  wave  saved  him.  I  went  through  the 
same  experience.  Several  times  we  were  threatened 
with  an  upset,  but  we  landed  in  safety.  The  portage 


SHORT  OF  PROVISIONS  IN  A  SUNLESS  GORGE  263 

was  short  and  easy.  Flat  granite  rocks  were  covered 
with  a  thin  coat  of  ice.  The  boats  were  unloaded  and 
slid  across,  then  dropped  below  the  projecting  rock.  The 
Defiance  skidded  less  than  two  feet  and  struck  a  project- 
ing knob  of  rock  the  size  of  a  goose  egg.  It  punctured  the 
side  close  to  the  stern,  fortunately  above  the  water  line, 
and  the  wood  was  not  entirely  broken  away. 

Two  miles  below  this  we  found  another  bad  one. 
This  was  lined  while  Bert  got  supper  up  in  a  little  sloping 
canyon ;  about  as  uncomfortable  a  camp  as  we  had  found. 
Many  of  the  rapids  run  the  next  day  were  violent.  The 
river  seemed  to  be  trying  to  make  up  for  lost  time.  We 
passed  a  canyon  coming  from  the  south  containing  two 
streams,  one  clear,  and  one  muddy.  The  narrowest 
place  we  had  seen  on  the  river  was  a  rapid  run  this  day, 
not  over  forty  feet  wide.  Evening  brought  us  to  a  rapid 
with  a  lateral  canyon  coming  in  from  each  side,  that  on 
the  right  containing  a  muddy  stream.  The  walls  were 
sheer  and  jagged  close  to  the  rapid,  with  a  break  on  the 
rugged  slopes  here  and  there.  A  sloping  rock  in  the 
middle  of  the  stream  could  be  seen  in  the  third  section 
of  the  rapid.  This  was  Separation  Rapid,  the  point 
where  the  two  Rowland  brothers  and  Dunn  parted  com- 
pany with  Major  Powell  and  his  party. 

From  our  camp  at  the  left  side  we  could  easily  figure 
out  a  way  to  the  upper  plateau.  Above  that  they  would 
have  a  difficult  climb  as  far  as  we  could  tell.  That  they 


264  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

did  reach  the  top  is  well  known.  They  met  a  tragic 
fate.  The  second  day  after  getting  out  they  were  killed 
by  some  Indians  —  the  Shewits  Utes  —  who  had  treated 
them  hospitably  at  first  and  provided  them  with  some- 
thing to  eat.  That  night  a  visiting  Indian  brought  a 
tale  of  depredations  committed  by  some  miners  against 
another  section  of  their  tribe.  These  men  were  believed 
to  be  the  guilty  parties,  and  they  were  ambushed  the 
next  morning.  Their  fate  remained  a  mystery  for  a 
year ;  then  a  Ute  was  seen  with  a  watch  belonging  to  one 
of  the  men.  Later  a  Mormon  who  had  a  great  deal  of 
influence  with  the  Indians  got  their  .story  from  them, 
and  reported  to  Major  Powell  what  he  had  learned.  It 
was  a  deplorable  and  a  tragic  ending  to  what  otherwise 
was  one  of  the  most  successful,  daring,  and  momentous 
explorations  ever  undertaken  on  this  continent. 

We  find  there  is  a  current  belief  that  it  was  cowardice 
and  fear  of  this  one  rapid  that  caused  these  men  to  sep- 
arate from  the  party.  The  more  one  hears  of  this  sep- 
aration, the  more  it  seems  that  it  was  a  difference  of 
opinion  on  many  matters,  and  not  this  one  rapid,  that 
caused  them  to  leave.  These  men  had  been  trappers 
and  hunters,  one  might  say  pioneers,  and  one  had  been 
with  Major  Powell  before  the  river  exploration.  They 
had  gone  through  all  the  canyons,  and  had  come  through 
this  far  without  a  fatality.  They  had  seen  a  great  many 
rapids  nearly  as  bad  as  this,  and  several  that  were  worse, 


SHORT  OF  PROVISIONS  IN  A  SUNLESS  GORGE  265 

if  one  could  judge  by  its  nature  when  we  found  it.  They 
were  not  being  carried  by  others,  but  had  charge  of  one 
boat.  They  did  smash  one  boat  in  Disaster  Rapid  in 
Lodore  Canyon,  and  at  that  time  they  claimed  Major 
Powell  gave  them  the  wrong  signal.  This  caused  some 
feeling. 

At  the  time  of  the  split,  the  food  question  was  a  serious 
one.  There  were  short  rations  for  a  long  time;  in  fact 
there  was  practically  no  food.  After  an  observation, 
Major  Powell  informed  them  that  they  were  within  forty- 
five  miles  of  the  Virgin  River,  in  a  direct  line.  Much 
of  the  country  between  the  end  of  the  canyon  and  the 
Virgin  River  was  open,  a  few  Mormon  settlements 
could  be  found  up  the  Virgin  Valley.  He  offered  them 
half  of  the  small  stock  of  provisions,  when  they  per- 
sisted in  leaving,  but  they  refused  to  take  any  provisions 
whatever,  feeling  sure  that  they  could  kill  enough  game 
to  subsist  on.  This  one  instance  would  seem  to  be 
enough  to  clear  them  of  the  stigma  of  cowardice.  The 
country  on  top  was  covered  with  volcanic  cinders.  There 
was  little  water  to  be  found,  and  in  many  ways  it  was 
just  as  inhospitable  as  the  canyon.  The  cook  had  a 
pan  of  biscuits,  which  he  left  on  a  rock  for  them,  after 
the  men  had  helped  the  party  lift  the  boats  over  the  rocks 
at  the  head  of  the  rapid.  After  landing  in  safety  around 
a  bend  which  hid  them  from  sight,  the  boating  party 
fired  their  guns,  hoping  they  would  hear  the  report,  and 


266  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

follow  in  the  abandoned  boat.  It  is  doubtful  if  they 
could  hear  the  sound  of  the  guns,  above  the  roar  of  the 
rapid.  If  they  did,  they  paid  no  attention  to  it.  The 
younger  Rowland  wished  to  remain  with  the  party,  but 
threw  his  lot  with  his  brother,  when  he  withdrew. 

While  these  men  did  not  have  the  Major's  deep  scien- 
tific interest  in  the  successful  completion  of  this  explora- 
tion, they  undoubtedly  should  have  stayed  with  their 
leader,  if  their  services  were  needed  or  desired.  It  is  more 
than  likely  that  they  were  insubordinate ;  they  certainly 
made  a  misguided  attempt,  but  in  spite  of  these  facts  it 
scarcely  seems  just  to  brand  them  as  cowards.  Two 
days  after  they  left,  the  boating  party  was  camped  at  the 
end  of  the  canyons. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE    LAST    PORTAGE    AND    THE    LAST    RAPIDS 

THE  first  section  of  Separation  Rapid  was  run  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning,  a  manoeuvre  that  was  accom- 
plished by  starting  on  the  left  shore  and  crossing  the 
swift  centre  clear  to  the  other  shore.  This  allowed  us  to 
reach  some  quiet  water  near  a  small  deposit  of  rock  and 
earth  at  the  base  of  the  sheer  wall.  Two  feet  of  water 
would  have  covered  this  deposit ;  likewise  two  feet  of 
water  would  have  given  us  a  clear  channel  over  this 
second  section.  As  it  was,  the  rapid  was  rough,  with  many 
rocks  very  near  the  surface.  Directly  across  from  us, 
close  to  the  left  shore,  was  what  looked  like  a  ten-foot 
geyser,  or  fountain  of  water.  This  was  caused  by  a  rock 
in  the  path  of  a  strong  current  rebounding  from  the  shore. 
The  water  ran  up  on  the  side  near  the  wall,  then  fell  on 
all  sides.  It  was  seldom  the  water  had  force  enough  to 
carry  to  the  top  of  a  rock  as  large  as  that.  This  portage 
of  the  second  section  was  one  of  the  easiest  we  had  made. 
By  rolling  a  few  large  rocks  around  we  could  get  a  stream 

of  water  across  our  small  shore  large  enough  to  float  an 

267 


268  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

empty  boat  with  a  little  help,  so  we  lightened  them  of  the 
cargo  and  floated  them  through  our  canal.  While  run- 
ning the  third  section  the  Edith  was  carried  up  on  the 
sloping  rock  in  the  middle  of  the  stream ;  she  paused  a 
moment,  then  came  down  like  a  shot  and  whirled  around 
to  the  side  without  mishap.  This  made  the  thirteenth 
rapid  in  which  both  boats  were  lined  or  portaged.  In 
three  other  rapids  one  boat  was  run  through  and  one  was 
portaged.  Half  of  all  these  rapids  were  located  in  the 
Grand  Canyon. 

All  this  time  we  were  anxiously  looking  forward  to  a 
rapid  which  Mr.  Stone  had  described  as  being  the  worst  in 
the  entire  series,  also  the  last  rapid  we  wrould  be  likely  to  port- 
age and  had  informed  us  that  below  this  particular  rapid 
everything  could  be  run  with  little  or  no  inspection.  Nat- 
urally we  were  anxious  to  get  that  rapid  behind  us.  It  was 
described  as  being  located  below  a  small  stream  flowing 
from  the  south.  The  same  rapid  was  described  by  Major 
Powell  as  having  a  bold,  lava-capped  escarpment  at  the 
head  of  the  rapid,  on  the  right.  We  had  not  seen  any 
lava  since  leaving  Diamond  Creek,  and  an  entry  in  my 
notes  reads,  "we  have  gone  over  Stone's  'big  rapid'  three 
times  and  it  is  still  ahead  of  us."  The  knowledge  that 
there  was  a  big  rapid  in  the  indefinite  somewhere  that 
was  likely  to  cause  us  trouble  seemed  to  give  us  more 
anxious  moments  than  the  many  unmentioned  rapids 
we  were  finding  all  this  time.  We  wondered  how  high 


THE  LAST  PORTAGE  AND  THE  LAST  RAPIDS  269 

the  escarpment  was,  and  if  we  could  take  our  boats  over 
its  top.  We  tried  to  convince  ourselves  that  it  was 
behind  us,  although  sure  that  it  could  not  be.  But  the 
absence  of  lava  puzzled  us.  After  one  "bad"  rapid  and 
several  "good"  rapids  we  came  to  a  sharp  turn  in  the 
canyon.  Emery  was  ahead  and  called  back,  "I  see  a 
little  stream";  Bert  joined  with  "I  see  the  lava";  and 
the  "Bold  Escarpment  Rapid,"  as  we  had  been  calling 
it  for  some  time,  was  before  us.  It  was  more  than  a  nasty 
rapid,  it  was  a  cataract ! 

What  a  din  that  water  sent  up  !  We  had  to  yell  to 
make  ourselves  heard.  The  air  vibrated  with  the  im- 
pact of  water  against  rock.  The  rapid  was  nearly  half  a 
mile  long.  There  were  two  sections  near  its  head  stag- 
gered with  great  rocks,  forty  of  them,  just  above  or 
slightly  submerged  under  the  surface  of  the  water.  Our 
low  stage  of  water  helped  us,  so  that  we  did  not  have  to 
line  the  boats  from  the  ledge,  eighty  feet  above  the  water, 
as  others  had  done.  The  rapid  broke  just  below  the 
lower  end  of  the  sheer  rock,  which  extended  twenty  feet 
beyond  the  irregular  shore.  The  Edith  went  first,  headed 
upstream,  at  a  slight  angle  nearly  touching  the  wall, 
dropping  a  few  inches  between  each  restraining  stroke  of 
the  oars.  Bert  crouched  on  the  bow,  ready  to  spring 
with  the  rope,  as  soon  as  Emery  passed  the  wall  and 
headed  her  in  below  the  wall.  Jumping  to  the  shore,  he 
took  a  snub  around  a  boulder  and  kept  her  from  being 


270  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

dragged  into  the  rapid.  Then  they  both  caught  the 
Defiance  as  she  swung  in  below  the  rock,  and  half  the 
battle  was  won  before  we  tackled  the  rapid. 

Our  days  were  short,  and  we  did  not  take  the  boats 
down  until  the  next  day ;  but  we  did  carry  much  of  the 
camp  material  and  cargo  halfway  down  over  ledges  a 
hundred  feet  above  the  river.  For  a  bad  rapid  we  were 
very  fortunate  in  getting  past  it  as  easily  as  we  did.  Logs 
were  laid  over  rocks,  the  boats  were  skidded  over  them 
about  their  own  length  and  dropped  in  again.  Logs 
and  boats  were  lined  down  in  the  swift,  but  less  riotous 
water,  to  the  next  barrier,  which  was  more  difficult.  A 
ten-foot  rounded  boulder  lay  close  to  the  shore,  with 
smaller  rocks,  smooth  and  ice-filmed,  scattered  between. 
Powerful  currents  swirled  between  these  rocks  and  dis- 
appeared under  two  others,  wedged  closely  together  on 
top.  Three  times  the  logs  were  snatched  from  our  grasp 
as  we  tried  to  bridge  them  across  this  current,  and  they 
vanished  in  the  foam,  to  shoot  out  end  first,  twenty  feet 
below  and  race  away  on  the  leaping  water.  A  boat 
would  be  smashed  to  kindling-wood  if  once  carried  under 
there.  At  last  we  got  our  logs  wedged,  and  an  hour  of 
tugging,  in  which  only  two  men  could  take  part  at 
the  same  time,  landed  both  boats  in  safety  below  this 
barrier.  We  shot  the  remainder  of  the  rapid  on  water 
so  swift  that  the  oars  were  snatched  from  our  hands  if 
we  tried  to  do  more  than  keep  the  boats  straight 


H.  LATZDX.         i.  i..   KULH.     Copyright  by  Kolb  lira 
THE   LAST   PORTAGE.     THE    ROCKS    WERE   ICE-FILMED.     NOTE   POTHOLES. 


THE  LAST  PORTAGE  AND  THE  LAST  RAPIDS  271 

with  the  current.  That  rapid  was  no  longer  the  "Bold 
Escarpment,"  but  the  "Last  Portage"  instead,  and  it 
was  behind  us. 

The  afternoon  was  half  gone  when  we  made  ready 
to  pull  away  from  the  Last  Portage.  There  were  other 
rapids,  but  scarcely  a  pause  was  made  in  our  two-hour  run, 
and  we  camped  away  from  the  roar  of  water.  The 
canyon  was  widening  out  a  little  at  a  time ;  the  granite 
disappeared  in  the  following  day's  run,  at  noon.  Grass- 
covered  slopes,  with  seeping  mineral  springs,  took  the 
place  of  precipitous  walls ;  they  dropped  to  2500  feet 
in  height ;  numerous  side  canyons  cut  the  walls  in  regu- 
lar sections  like  gigantic  city  blocks,  instead  of  an  un- 
broken avenue.  Small  rapids  continued  to  appear, 
there  were  a  few  small  islands,  and  divided  currents,  so 
shallow  they  sometimes  kept  us  guessing  which  one  to 
take,  but  we  continued  to  run  them  all  without  a  pause. 
We  would  have  run  out  of  the  canyon  that  day  but  for 
one  thing.  Five  mountain-sheep  were  seen  from  our 
boats  in  one  of  the  sloping  grassy  meadows  above  the 
river.  We  landed  below,  carried  our  cameras  back,  and 
spent  half  an  hour  in  trying  to  see  them  again,  but  they 
had  taken  alarm. 

Placer  claim  locations  and  fresh  burro  tracks  were 
seen  in  the  sand  at  our  last  Grand  Canyon  camp,  and  a 
half  mile  below  us  we  could  see  out  into  open  country. 
We  found  the  walls,  or  the  end  of  the  table-land,  to  be 


272  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

about  two  thousand  feet  high,  with  the  canyon  emerging 
at  a  sharp  angle  so  that  a  narrow  ridge,  or  "hogs-back," 
lay  on  the  left  side  of  the  stream.  Once  out  in  the  open, 
the  walls  were  seen  to  be  quite  steep,  but  could  be  climbed 
to  the  top  almost  any  place  without  trouble.  Saturday, 
January  the  I3th,  we  were  out  of  the  canyon  at  last,  and 
the  towering  walls,  now  friendly,  now  menacing,  were 
behind  us.  Three  hundred  and  sixty-five  large  rapids, 
and  nearly  twice  as  many  small  rapids,  were  behind  us 
and  the  dream  of  ten  years  was  an  accomplished  fact. 
But  best  of  all,  there  were  no  tragedies  or  fatalities  to 
record.  Perhaps  we  did  look  a  little  the  worse  for  wear, 
but  a  few  days  away  from  the  river  would  repair  all  that. 
The  boats  had  a  bump  here  and  there,  besides  the  one 
big  patch  on  the  Edith;  a  little  mending  and  a  little 
caulking  would  put  both  the  Edith  and  Defiance  in  first- 
class  condition. 

There  is  little  of  interest  to  record  of  our  175-mile 
run  to  Needles,  California.  It  was  a  land  of  desolation 
—  an  extension  of  the  Mojave  Desert  on  the  south,  and 
the  alkaline  flats  and  mineral  mountains  of  Nevada  on  the 
north,  of  Death  Valley  and  the  Funeral  Mountains  of  Califor- 
nia to  the  northwest  —  a  burned-out  land  of  grim-looking 
mountains  extending  north  and  south  across  our  way ;  a 
dried-out,  washed-out,  and  wind-swept  land  of  extensive 
flats  and  arroyos  ;  a  land  of  rock  and  gravel  cemented  in 
marls  and  clay ;  ungraced  with  any  but  the  desert  plants, — 


THE  LAST  PORTAGE  AND  THE  LAST  RAPIDS  273 

cactus  and  thorny  shrubs,  —  with  little  that  was  pleasing 
or  attractive.  A  desert  land  it  is  true,  but  needing  only 
the  magic  touch  of  water  to  transform  much  of  it  into  a 
garden  spot.  Even  as  it  was,  a  few  months  later  it 
would  be  covered  with  the  flaming  blossoms  of  the  desert 
growth,  which  seem  to  try  to  make  amends  in  one  or 
two  short  months  for  nearly  a  year  of  desolation. 

A  wash  ran  along  the  base  of  the  plateau  from  which 
we  had  emerged.  An  abandoned  road  and  ferry  showed 
that  this  had  once  been  a  well-travelled  route.  The 
stream  had  a  good  current  and  we  pulled  away,  only 
stopping  once  to  see  the  last  of  our  plateau  before  a  turn 
and  deepening  banks  hid  it  from  view.  We  wondered 
if  the  water  ever  dropped  in  a  precipitous  fall  over  the 
face  of  the  wall  and  worked  back,  a  little  every  year,  as 
it  does  at  Niagara.  We  could  hardly  doubt  that  there 
were  some  such  falls  back  in  the  dim  past  when  these 
canyons  were  being  carved. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we  passed  a  ranch  or 
a  house  with  a  little  garden,  occupied  by  two  miners, 
who  hailed  us  from  the  shore.  A  half-mile  below  was  the 
Scanlon  Ferry,  a  binding  tie  between  Arizona,  on  the 
south  and  what  was  now  Nevada,  on  the  north,  for  we 
had  reached  the  boundary  line  shortly  after  emerging 
from  the  canyon.  We  still  travelled  nearly  directly  west. 
The  ferry  was  in  charge  of  a  Cornishman  who  also  had 
as  pretty  a  little  ranch  as  one  could  expect  to  find  in 


274  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

such  an  unlikely  place.  A  purling  stream  of  water, 
piped  from  somewhere  up  in  the  hills,  had  caused  the 
transformation.  The  ranch  was  very  homey  with  cattle 
and  horses,  sheep  and  hogs,  dogs  and  cats,  all  sleek  and 
contented-looking.  The  garden  proved  that  this  country 
had  a  warm  climate,  although  we  were  not  suffering  from 
heat  at  that  time.  An  effort  was  being  made  to  grow 
some  orange  trees,  but  with  little  promise  of  success ; 
there  were  fig  trees  and  date-palms,  with  frozen  dates 
hanging  on  the  branches,  one  effect  of  the  coldest  winter 
they  had  seen  in  this  section. 

The  rancher  told  us  he  could  not  sell  us  anything  that 
had  to  be  brought  in,  for  it  was  seventy  miles  to  the 
railroad,  but  we  could  look  over  such  supplies  as  he  had. 
It  ended  by  his  selling  us  a  chicken,  two  dozen  eggs, 
five  pounds  of  honey,  and  ten  pounds  of  flour,  —  all  for 
$2.50.  We  did  not  leave  until  the  next  morning,  then 
bought  another  jar  of  honey,  for  we  had  no  sugar,  and  two- 
thirds  of  the  first  jar  was  eaten  before  we  left  the  ferry. 

We  pulled  away  in  such  a  hurry  the  next  morning 
that  we  forgot  an  axe  that  had  been  carried  with  us  for 
the  entire  journey.  A  five-hour  run  brought  us  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Virgin  River,  a  sand-bar  a  mile  wide,  and 
with  a  red-coloured  stream  little  larger  than  Cataract 
Creek  winding  through  it.  We  had  once  seen  this  stream 
near  its  head  waters,  a  beautiful  mountain  creek,  that 
seemed  to  bear  no  relation  to  this  repulsive-looking  stream 


THE  LAST  PORTAGE  AND  THE  LAST  RAPIDS  275 

that  entered  from  the  north.  A  large,  flat-topped,  adobe 
building,  apparently  deserted,  stood  off  at  one  side  of  the 
stream.  This  was  the  head  of  navigation  for  flat- 
bottomed  steamboats  that  once  plied  between  here 
and  the  towns  on  the  lower  end  of  the  river.  They 
carried  supplies  for  small  mines  scattered  through  the 
mountains  and  took  out  cargoes  of  ore,  and  of  rock  salt 
which  was  mined  back  in  Nevada. 

It  was  here  at  the  Virgin  River  that  Major  Powell 
concluded  his  original  voyage  of  exploration.  Some  of 
his  men  took  the  boats  on  down  to  Fort  Mojave,  a  few 
miles  above  Needles ;  afterwards  two  of  the  party  con- 
tinued on  to  the  Gulf.  The  country  below  the  Vir- 
gin River  had  been  explored  by  several  parties,  but  pre- 
vious to  this  time  nothing  definite  was  known  of  the 
gorges  until  this  exploration  by  this  most  remarkable 
man.  The  difficulties  of  this  hazardous  trip  were  in- 
creased for  him  by  the  fact  that  he  had  lost  an  arm  in 
the  Civil  War. 

It  is  usually  taken  for  granted  that  the  United  States 
government  was  back  of  this  exploration.  This  was 
true  of  the  second  expedition,  but  not  of  the  first.  Major 
Powell  was  aided  to  a  certain  extent  by  the  State  College 
of  Illinois,  otherwise  he  bore  all  the  expense  himself. 
He  received  $10,000  from  the  government  to  apply  on 
the  expenses  of  the  second  trip. 

We  felt  that  we  had  some  reason  to  feel  a  justifiable 


276  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

pride  for  having  duplicated,  in  some  ways,  this  arduous 
journey.  It  was  impossible  for  us  to  do  more  than  guess 
what  must  have  been  the  feelings  and  anxieties  of  this 
explorer.  Added  to  the  fact  that  we  had  boats,  tested 
and  constructed  to  meet  the  requirements  of  the  river, 
and  the  benefit  of  others'  experiences,  was  a  knowledge 
that  we  were  not  likely  to  be  precipitated  over  a  waterfall, 
or  if  we  lost  everything  and  succeeded  in  climbing  out, 
that  there  were  a  few  ranches  and  distant  settlements 
scattered  through  the  country. 

But  we  had  traversed  the  same  river  and  the  same 
canyons  which  change  but  little  from  year  to  year,  and 
had  succeeded  beyond  our  fondest  hopes  in  having  ac- 
complished what  we  set  out  to  do. 

The  Black  Mountains,  dark  and  forbidding,  composed 
of  a  hard  rock  which  gave  a  metallic  clink,  and  deco- 
rated with  large  spots  of  white,  yellow,  vermilion,  and 
purple  deposits  of  volcanic  ashes,  were  entered  this  af- 
ternoon. The  peaks  were  about  a  thousand  feet  high. 
The  passage  between  is  known  as  Boulder  Canyon. 
Here  we  met  two  miners  at  work  on  a  tunnel,  or  drift, 
who  informed  us  that  it  was  about  forty  miles  to  Las 
Vegas,  Nevada,  and  that  it  was  only  twenty-five  miles 
from  the  mouth  of  Las  Vegas  Wash,  farther  down  the 
river,  to  this  same  town  and  the  railroad. 

Fort  Callville  —  an  abandoned  rock  building,  con- 
structed by  the  directions  of  Brigham  Young,  without 


THE  LAST  PORTAGE  AND  THE  LAST  RAPIDS  277 

windows  or  roof,  and  surrounded  by  stone  corrals  — 
was  passed  the  next  day.  At  Las  Vegas  Wash  the  river 
turned  at  right  angles,  going  directly  south,  holding  with 
very  little  deviation  to  this  general  direction  until  it 
empties  into  the  Gulf  of  California  nearly  five  hundred 
miles  away.  The  river  seemed  to  be  growing  smaller 
as  we  got  out  in  the  open  country.  Like  all  Western 
rivers,  when  unprotected  by  canyons,  it  was  sinking  in 
the  sand.  Sand-bars  impeded  our  progress  at  such  places 
as  the  mouth  of  the  Wash.  But  we  had  a  good  current, 
without  rapids  in  Black  Canyon,  which  came  shortly 
below,  and  mile  after  mile  was  put  behind  us  before  we 
camped  for  the  night. 

An  old  stamp-mill,  closed  for  the  time,  but  in  charge 
of  three  men  who  were  making  preparations  to  resume 
work,  was  passed  the  next  day.  They  had  telephone 
communication  with  Searchlight,  Nevada,  twenty  odd 
miles  away,  and  we  sent  out  some  telegrams  in  that  way. 

More  sand-bars  were  encountered  the  next  day,  and 
ranches  began  to  appear  on  both  sides  of  the  river.  We 
had  difficulty  on  some  of  these  bars.  In  places  the  river 
bed  was  a  mile  wide,  with  stagnant  pools  above  the  sand, 
and  with  one  deep  channel  twisting  between.  At  Fort 
Mojave,  now  an  Indian  school  and  agency,  we  tele- 
phoned to  some  friends  in  Needles,  as  we  had  promised 
to  do,  telling  them  we  would  arrive  about  noon  of  the 
following  day.  We  made  a  mistake  in  not  camping  at 


278  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

the  high  ground  by  the  "fort"  that  night,  for  just  below 
the  river  widened  again  and  the  channel  turned  out  in 
the  centre.  It  was  getting  dark  and  we  had  entered  this 
before  noticing  which  way  it  turned,  and  had  a  hard  pull 
back  to  the  shore,  for  we  had  no  desire  to  camp  out  there 
in  the  quicksand.  The  shore  was  little  more  desirable. 
It  was  a  marsh,  covered  with  a  growth  of  flags  and  tules, 
but  with  the  ground  frozen  enough  so  that  we  did  not  sink. 
Our  last  camp  —  No.  76  —  was  made  in  this  marsh. 
There  we  spent  the  night,  hidden  like  hunted  savages 
in  the  cane-brake,  while  an  Indian  brass  band  played 
some  very  good  music  for  an  officers'  ball,  less  than  half 
a  mile  away. 

We  were  up  and  away  with  the  sun  the  next  morn- 
ing. On  nearing  Needles,  a  friend  met  us  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town  and  informed  us  that  they  had  ar- 
ranged what  he  called  an  official  landing  and  reception. 
At  his  request  we  deferred  going  down  at  once,  but  busied 
ourselves  instead  at  packing  our  cargo,  ready  for  ship- 
ping. Our  friend  had  secured  the  services  of  a  motion- 
picture  operator  and  our  own  camera  was  sent  down  to 
make  a  picture  of  the  landing,  which  was  made  as  he  had 
arranged. 

We  landed  in  Needles  January  18, 1912;  one  month  from 
the  time  of  our  start  from  Bright  Angel  Trail,  with  a  total 
of  one  hundred  and  one  days  spent  along  the  river.  In 
that  time  our  camps  had  been  changed  seventy-six  times. 


Copyrigni  u\/  Koth  Lira 
WATCHING   FOR  THE   SIGNAL  FIRE.     MRS.   EMERY   AND  EDITH   KOLB. 


THE  LAST  PORTAGE  AND  THE  LAST  RAPIDS  279 

Our  two  boats,  highly  prized  as  souvenirs  of  our  twelve 
hundred  mile  trip,  and  which  had  carried  us  through 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  big  rapids,  over  a  total  de- 
scent of  more  than  five  thousand  feet,  were  loaded  on  cars 
ready  for  shipment;  the  Edith  to  Los  Angeles,  the  De- 
fiance to  the  Grand  Canyon. 

Among  other  mail  awaiting  us  was  the  following  letter, 
bearing  the  postmark  of  Kite,  Utah  : 

"  KOLB  BROS., 
"  DEAR  FRIENDS  : 

"Well  I  got  here  at  last  after  seventeen  days  in 
Cataract  Canyon.  The  old  boat  will  stand  a  little  quiet 
water  but  will  never  go  through  another  rapid.  I  cer- 
tainly played  '  ring-a-round '  some  of  those  rocks  in 
Cataract  Canyon ;  I  tried  every  scheme  I  had  ever 
heard  of,  and  some  that  were  never  thought  of  before. 
At  the  last  rapid  in  Cataract  I  carried  all  my  stuff  over 
the  cliff,  then  tried  to  line  the  boat  from  the  narrow  ledge. 
The  boat  jerked  me  into  the  river,  but  I  did  not  lose  my 
hold  on  the  chain  and  climbed  on  board.  I  had  no  oars, 
but  managed  to  get  through  without  striking  any  rocks, 
and  landed  a  mile  and  a  half  below  the  supplies.  I  hope 
the  'movies'  are  good.1 

"  Sincerely  yours, 

"CHAS.  SMITH." 

1  See  appendix,  History  of  Cataract  Canyon. 


CONCLUSION.    HOW  I  WENT  TO  MEXICO 
CHAPTER  XXIV 

ON    THE    CREST    OF    A   FLOOD 

A  WESTWARD-BOUND  train  was  bearing  me  across  the 
Mojave  Desert  one  day  in  May.  In  a  few  swiftly  passing 
hours  we  had  made  a  six-thousand  foot  descent  from  the 
plateau  with  its  fir  and  aspen-covered  mountain,  its  cedar 
and  pifion-clothed  foot-hills,  and  its  extensive  forests  of 
yellow  pine.  Crimson  and  yellow-flowered  cactus,  sage 
and  chaparral,  succeeded  the  pines.  The  cool  mountains 
had  given  way  to  burned-out,  umber-coloured  hills,  rock- 
ribbed  arroyos,  and  seemingly  endless  desert ;  and  the 
sun  was  growing  hotter  every  minute. 

If  the  heat  continued  to  increase,  I  doubted  if  I  would 
care  to  take  a  half-planned  Colorado  River  trip  down 
to  the  Gulf.  Visions  of  the  California  beaches,  of  fishing 
at  Catalina  and  of  horseback  rides  over  the  Sierra's  trails, 
nearly  unsettled  my  determination  to  stop  at  Needles, 
on  the  California  side  of  the  river.  This  was  my  vaca- 
tion !  Why  undergo  all  the  discomfort  of  a  voyage  on 
a  desert  stream,  when  the  pleasures  and  comforts  of  the 

Pacific  beckoned  ?     One   thing  was   sure,   if  I  was   not 

280 


ON  THE  CREST  OF  A  FLOOD  281 

successful  in  securing  a  boat  at  Needles,  the  very  next 
train  would  find  me  on  board,  bound  for  the  Western 
Slope.  By  mid-afternoon  the  chaparral  had  disap- 
peared and  only  the  cactus  remained  —  the  ocotilla, 
covered  with  a  million  flowers,  wave  upon  wave  of  crim- 
son flame,  against  the  yellow  earth.  Violet-veiled  moun- 
tains appeared  in  the  west,  marking  the  southern  trend 
of  the  Colorado.  The  air  was  suffocating.  The  train- 
created  wind  was  like  a  blast  from  a  furnace ;  yet  with 
the  electric  fans  whirring,  with  blinds  drawn  and  windows 
closed  to  keep  the  withering  air  out,  it  seemed  a  little  less 
uncomfortable  in  the  car,  in  spite  of  the  unvitalized  air, 
than  under  the  scorching  sun. 

We  were  beside  the  Colorado  at  last.  I  had  a  good 
view  of  the  stream  below,  as  we  crossed  the  bridge  - 
the  Colorado  in  flood,  muddy,  turbulent,  sweeping  on- 
ward like  an  affrighted  thing,  —  repulsive,  yet  with  a 
fascination  for  me,  born  of  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  dangers  of  this  stream.  The  river  had  called 
again  !  The  heat  was  forgotten,  the  visions  of  the  coast 
faded,  for  me  the  train  could  not  reach  Needles,  ten 
miles  up  the  river,  quickly  enough. 

With  my  brother,  I  had  followed  this  stream  down 
to  Needles,  through  a  thousand  miles  of  canyon.  I  had 
seen  how  it  carved  its  way  through  the  mountains,  carry- 
ing them  on,  in  solution,  toward  the  ocean.  At  last  I 
would  see  what  became  of  all  these  misplaced  mountains. 


282  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON^  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

I  would  see  the  tidal  bore  as  it  swept  in  from  the  Gulf. 
I  had  heard  there  were  wild  hogs  which  burrowed  through 
the  cane-brake.  It  may  be  that  I  would  learn  of  a  vessel 
at  some  port  down  on  the  Mexican  coast,  which  I  might 
reach  and  which  would  take  me  around  the  Lower  Cali- 
fornia Peninsula.  I  felt  sure  there  was  such  a  port.  No 
doubt  I  could  have  found  books  to  tell  me  exactly  what 
I  would  see,  but  too  much  information  would  spoil  all 
the  romance  of  such  an  adventure.  It  was  all  very 
alluring.  With  the  spring  flood  on,  the  river  could  not 
help  but  be  interesting  and  exciting,  a  pretty  good  imita- 
tion of  the  rapids,  perhaps.  If  I  could  only  secure  a  boat ! 

Half  an  hour  later  I  was  meeting  old  acquaintances 
about  the  hotel,  connected  with  the  station.  The  genial 
hotel  manager,  with  the  Irish  name,  was  smilingly  ex- 
plaining to  some  newcomers  that  this  was  not  hot ;  that 
"a  dry  heat  at  no  degrees  was  not  nearly  as  bad  as  85 
degrees  back  in  Chicago,"  "and  as  for  heat, "  he  continued, 
"why  down  in  Yuma" —  then  he  caught  sight  of  me, 
with  a  grin  on  my  face,  and  perhaps  he  remembered  that 
I  had  heard  him  say  the  same  thing  two  years  before, 
when  it  was  even  hotter;  and  he  came  over  with  out- 
stretched hand,  —  calling  me  uncomplimentary  names, 
under  his  breath,  for  spoiling  the  effect  of  his  explanation ; 
all  which  was  belied  by  his  welcome.  It  takes  an  Irish- 
man to  run  a  big  hotel  in  the  middle  of  the  desert. 

A  few  inquiries  brought  out  the  information  that  I 


ON  THE  CREST  OF  A  FLOOD  283 

was  not  likely  to  get  a  boat.  The  stores  did  not  keep 
them.  I  should  have  given  my  order  two  weeks  before 
to  an  Indian  who  built  boats  to  order  at  $2.00  a  foot. 
This  was  a  new  one  on  me.  Suppose  a  fellow  wanted  - 
well,  say,  about  $15.00  worth.  It  would  look  something 
like  a  tub,  wouldn't  it  ?  Perhaps  it  was  to  be  the  coast, 
for  me,  after  all. 

The  Colorado  River  in  flood  is  a  terrible  stream. 
Unlike  the  Eastern  rivers,  there  are  no  populous  cities  - 
with  apologies  to  Needles  and  Yuma  —  along  its  shores, 
to  be  inundated  with  the  floods.  Unlike  the  rivers 
of  the  South,  few  great  agricultural  districts  spread 
across  its  bottoms.  Along  the  upper  seven  hundred 
miles  there  are  not  a  half-dozen  ranches  with  twenty-five 
acres  under  cultivation.  But  if  destructive  power  and 
untamed  energy  are  terrible,  the  Colorado  River, 
in  flood,  is  a  terrible  stream. 

After  changing  into  some  comfortable  clothes  I 
sauntered  past  the  railway  machine  shops  down  to 
the  river,  and  up  to  where  a  fight  was  being  waged  to 
save  the  upper  part  of  the  town  from  being  torn  away 
by  the  flood.  For  a  month  past,  car  after  car  of  rock 
had  been  dumped  along  the  river  bank,  only  to  disappear 
in  the  quicksands ;  and  as  yet  no  bottom  had  been 
reached.  Up  to  this  point  the  fight  was  about  equal. 
The  flood  would  not  reach  its  crest  until  two  or  three 
weeks  later. 


284  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

Beyond  a  fisherman  or  two  there  were  few  men  by 
the  river.  The  workmen  had  finished  their  day's  labour. 
A  ferryman  said  that  I  might  talk  an  Indian  into  selling 
his  boat,  but  it  was  doubtful.  My  next  job  was  to  find 
such  an  Indian. 

A  big,  greasy  Mojave  buck  lay  on  an  uncovered,  rusty 
bed  spring,  slung  on  a  home-made  frame,  before  his 
willow  and  adobe  home,  close  to  the  Colorado  River.  In 
answer  to  my  repeated  question  he  uncoiled  and  stretched 
the  full  length  of  his  six  foot  six  couch,  grunted  a  few 
words  in  his  native  tongue  to  other  Indians  without  a 
glance  in  my  direction,  then  indifferently  closed  his  eyes 
again.  A  young  Indian  in  semi-cowboy  garb,  —  not 
omitting  a  gorgeous  silk  handkerchief  about  his  neck, — 
jabbered  awhile  with  some  grinning  squaws,  then  said  in 
perfectly  understandable  English,  "He  will  sell  his  boat 
for  $18.00.  It  is  worth  $30.00."  This  was  decisive  for 
an  Indian.  It  usually  takes  a  half-day  of  bickering  to 
get  them  to  make  any  kind  of  a  bargain.  I  told  him  I 
would  take  it  in  the  morning. 

It  was  a  well-constructed  boat,  almost  new,  built  of 
inch  pine,  flat-bottomed,  and  otherwise  quite  similar  in 
shape  to  the  boats  my  brother  and  I  had  used  on 
our  twelve  hundred  mile  journey  through  the  canyons 
of  the  Green  and  Colorado  rivers,  —  but  without  the 
graceful  lines  and  swells  that  made  those  other  boats  so 
valuable  to  us  in  rapids.  The  boat  was  nearly  new  and 


ON  THE  CREST  OF  A  FLOOD  285 

well  worth  $30.00,  as  boat  prices  went  in  that  town. 
Why  he  was  willing  to  sell  it  for  $18.00,  or  at  the  rate 
of  £1.00  a  foot,  I  could  not  imagine.  It  was  the  first 
bargain  an  Indian  had  ever  offered  me.  But  if  I  paid 
for  it  that  evening,  there  were  doubts  in  my  mind  if  I 
should  find  it  in  the  morning,  so  I  delayed  closing  the 
bargain  and  went  back  again  to  inspect  the  boat. 

That  evening  I  inquired  among  my  acquaintances  if 
there  was  any  one  who  would  care  to  accompany  me.  If 
so  I  would  give  them  passage  to  Yuma,  or  to  the  Gulf  of 
California  in  Mexico,  if  they  wished  it.  But  no  one  could 
go,  or  those  who  could,  wouldn't.  One  would  have 
thought  from  the  stories  with  which  I  was  regaled,  that 
the  rapids  of  the  Grand  Canyon  were  below  Needles,  and 
as  for  going  to  the  Gulf,  it  was  suicide.  I  was  told  of  the 
outlaws  along  the  border,  of  the  firearms  and  opium 
smugglers,  who  shot  first  and  questioned  afterward,  and 
of  the  insurrectos  of  Lower  California.  The  river  had  no 
real  outlet  to  the  ocean,  they  said,  since  the  break  into 
Salton  Sea,  but  spread  over  a  cane-brake,  thirty  miles  or 
more  in  width.  Many  people  had  gone  into  these  swamps 
and  never  returned,  whether  lost  in  the  jungles  or  killed 
by  the  Cocopah  Indians,  no  one  knew.  They  simply 
disappeared.  It  was  all  very  alluring. 

My  preparations,  the  next  day,  were  few.  I  had  in- 
cluded a  sleeping  bag  with  my  baggage.  It  would  come 
in  equally  handy  whether  I  went  down  on  the  Colorado 


286  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

or  up  into  the  Coast  Range.  A  frying-pan,  a  coffee-pot, 
a  few  metal  dishes  and  provisions  for  a  week  were  all  I 
needed.  Some  one  suggested  some  bent  poles,  and  a 
cover,  such  as  are  used  on  wagons  to  keep  off  the  sun. 
This  seemed  like  a  good  idea  ;  and  I  hunted  up  a  carpenter 
who  did  odd  jobs.  He  did  not  have  such  a  one,  but  he 
did  have  an  old  wagon-seat  cover,  which  could  be  raised 
or  dropped  at  will.  This  was  even  better,  for  sometimes 
hard  winds  sweep  up  the  river.  The  cover  was  fastened 
to  the  sides  of  the  boat.  The  boat,  meanwhile,  had  been 
thoroughly  scrubbed.  It  looked  clean  before,  but  I  was 
not  going  to  take  any  chances  at  carrying  Indian  live- 
stock along  with  his  boat.  My  surplus  baggage  was  sent 
on  to  Los  Angeles,  and  twenty-four  hours  after  I  had 
landed  in  Needles,  I  was  ready  to  embark. 

My  experience  in  camping  trips  of  various  sorts  has 
been  that  the  start  from  headquarters  occupies  more  time 
than  any  similar  preparation.  Once  on  the  road,  things 
naturally  arrange  themselves  into  some  kind  of  a  system, 
and  an  hour  on  the  road  in  the  evening  means  several 
hours  gained  the  next  morning.  Added  to  this,  there  are 
always  a  number  of  loafers  about  railroad  towns,  and 
small  things  have  a  way  of  disappearing.  With  this 
in  mind,  I  determined  to  make  my  start  that  evening, 
and  at  7  P.M.  on  the  23d  of  May,  1913,  I  embarked  on  a 
six  to  eight  mile  an  hour  current,  paced  by  cottonwood 
logs,  carried  down  by  the  flood  from  the  head  waters  in 
Wyoming,  Utah,  and  Colorado. 


ON  THE  CREST  OF  A  FLOOD  287 

When  sailing  on  the  unruffled  current  one  did  not 
notice  its  swiftness  —  it  sped  so  quietly  yet  at  the  same 
time  with  such  deadly  intent  —  until  some  half  sub- 
merged cottonwood  snags  appeared,  their  jagged,  broken 
limbs  ploughing  the  stream  exactly  like  the  bow  of  a  motor- 
driven  boat,  throwing  two  diverging  lines  of  waves  far 
down  the  stream.  One  would  almost  think  the  boat  was 
motionless,  it  raced  so  smoothly,  —  and  that  the  snags 
were  tearing  upstream  as  a  river  man  had  said,  the  day 
before,  "like  a  dog  with  a  bone  in  his  teeth."  A  sunken 
stone-boat,  with  a  cabin  half  submerged,  seemed  pro- 
pelled by  some  unseen  power  and  rapidly  dwindled  in 
the  distance. 

So  fascinating  were  these  things  that  I  forgot  the 
approaching  night.  I  first  noticed  it  when  the  stream 
slackened  its  mad  pace  and  spread  over  its  banks  into 
great  wide  marshes,  in  divided  and  subdivided  channels 
and  over  submerged  islands,  with  nothing  but  willow  and 
fuzzy  cattail  tops  to  indicate  that  there  was  a  bottom 
underneath.  Here  there  was  no  place  to  camp  had  I 
wished  to  do  so.  Once  I  missed  the  main  channel  and 
had  a  difficult  time  in  finding  my  way  back  in  the  dark. 
After  two  or  three  miles  of  this  quiet  current,  the  streams 
began  to  unite  again,  and  the  river  regained  its  former 
speed.  I  was  growing  weary  after  the  first  excitement, 
and  began  to  wish  myself  well  out  of  it  all  and  safely 
anchored  to  the  shore.  But  I  knew  there  was  a  level 


288  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

bank  above  the  river  close  to  the  bridge,  which  would 
make  a  good  camping  place ;  so  I  rested  on  my  oars, 
facing  down  the  stream  with  eyes  and  ears  alert  for  the 
treacherous  snags.  Then  the  stars  began  to  appear, 
one  by  one,  lighting  up  the  cloudless  sky ;  a  moist,  tropi- 
cal-like  breeze  moved  up  the  stream,  the  channel  narrowed 
and  deepened,  the  snags  vanished,  and  the  stream  in- 
creased its  swiftness. 

And  with  eyes  wide  open,  but  unseeing,  I  dozed. 

It  was  the  lights  of  a  passenger  train  crossing  the 
bridge,  just  a  short  distance  away,  that  made  me  realize 
where  I  was.  The  train  thundered  into  the  darkness ; 
but  louder  than  the  roar  of  the  train  was  that  of  the 
water  directly  ahead,  and  hidden  in  the  impenetrable 
shadow  over  on  the  right  shore  was  a  noise  much  like 
that  made  by  a  Grand  Canyon  rapid. 

Wide  awake  now,  I  pulled  for  the  left,  and  after 
one  or  two  attempts  to  land,  I  caught  some  willow  tops 
and  guided  the  boat  to  the  raised  bank.  Beyond  the 
willows  was  a  higher  ground,  covered  with  a  mesquite 
thicket,  with  cattle  trails  winding  under  the  thorny 
trees.  Here  I  unrolled  my  sleeping  bag,  then  went  up  to 
interview  the  operator  and  the  watchman,  and  to  get  a 
drink  of  clear  water,  for  I  had  no  desire  to  drink  the 
liquid  mud  of  the  Colorado  until  it  was  necessary.  In 
answer  to  a  question  I  told  them  of  my  little  ride.  One  of 
the  men  exclaimed,  "You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you 


ON  THE  CREST  OF  A  FLOOD  289 

came  down  on  the  flood  after  dark  !"  On  being  informed 
that  I  had  just  arrived,  he  exclaimed :  "Well  I  reckon  you 
don't  know  what  the  Colorado  is.  It's  a  wonder  this 
whirlpool  didn't  break  you  against  the  pier.  You  ought 
to  have  brought  some  one  with  you  to  see  you  drown  ! " 


CHAPTER  XXV 

FOUR   DAYS    TO    YUMA 

BEFORE  sunrise  the  following  morning,  I  had  com- 
pleted my  few  camp  duties,  finished  my  breakfast, 
and  dropped  my  boat  into  the  whirlpool  above  the  bridge. 
My  two  friends  watched  the  manoeuvre  as  I  pulled  clear 
of  the  logs  and  the  piers  which  caused  the  water  to 
make  such  alarming  sounds  the  night  before ;  then  they 
gave  me  a  final  word  of  caution,  and  the  information 
that  the  Parker  Bridge  was  sixty  miles  away  and  that 
Yuma  was  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  down  the  stream. 
They  thought  that  I  should  reach  Yuma  in  a  week.  It 
seemed  but  a  few  minutes  until  the  bridge  was  a  mile 
up  the  stream.  Now  I  was  truly  embarked  for  the 
gulf. 

By  the  time  I  had  reached  the  spire-like  mountainous 
rocks  a  few  miles  below  the  bridge,  which  gave  the  town 
of  Needles  its  name,  the  sun  was  well  up  and  I  was  begin- 
ning to  learn  what  desert  heat  was,  although  I  had 
little  time  to  think  of  it  as  I  was  kept  so  busy  with  my 

boat.     Here,  the  stream  which  was  spread  a  mile  wide 

290 


FOUR  DAYS  TO  YUMA  291 

above,  had  choked  down  to  two  hundred  feet;  small 
violent  whirlpools  formed  at  the  abrupt  turns  in  this 
so-called  canyon  and  the  water  tore  from  side  to  side. 
In  one  whirl  my  boat  was  twice  carried  around  the  circle 
into  which  I  had  allowed  it  to  be  caught,  then  shot  out 
on  the  pounding  flood.  Soon  the  slag-like  mountains 
were  passed  and  the  country  began  to  spread,  first  in  a 
high  barren  land,  then  with  a  bottom  land  running  back 
from  the  river.  The  willow  bushes  changed  to  willow 
trees,  tall  and  spindly,  crowded  in  a  thicket  down  to  the 
river's  edge.  The  Chemehuevi  Indians  have  their  res- 
ervation here.  On  rounding  an  abrupt  turn  I  surprised 
two  little  naked  children,  fat  as  butterballs,  dabbling 
in  a  mud  puddle  close  to  the  stream.  The  sight,  coupled 
with  the  tropical-like  heat  and  the  jungle,  could  well 
make  one  imagine  he  was  in  Africa  or  India,  and  that  the 
little  brown  bodies  were  the  "alligator  bait"  of  which  we 
read.  Only  the  'gators  were  missing.  The  unexpected 
sight  of  a  boat  and  a  white  man  trying  to  photograph 
them  started  them  both  into  a  frightened  squall.  Then  an 
indignant  mother  appeared,  staring  at  me  as  though  she 
would  like  to  know  what  I  had  done  to  her  offspring. 
Farther  along  were  other  squaws,  with  red  and  blue  lines 
pencilled  on  their  childlike,  contented  faces,  seated  under  the 
willows.  Their  cotton  garments,  of  red  and  blue  bandanna 
handkerchiefs  sewed  together,  added  a  gay  bit  of  colour 
to  the  scene. 


292  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

Below  this  were  two  or  three  cozy  little  ranch  houses 
and  a  few  scattered  cattle  ranches,  with  cattle  browsing 
back  in  the  trees.  All  this  time  it  was  getting  hotter,  and 
I  was  thankful  for  my  sheltering  cover.  My  lunch,  pre- 
pared in  the  morning,  was  eaten  as  I  drifted.  Except  in 
a  few  quiet  stretches  I  did  little  rowing,  just  enough 
to  keep  the  boat  away  from  the  overhanging  banks  and 
in  the  strong  current. 

The  bottom  lands  began  to  build  up  again  with  banks 
of  gravel  and  clay,  growing  higher  with  every  mile. 
The  deciduous  trees  gave  way  to  the  desert  growths  : 
the  cholla,  "the  shower  of  gold,"  and  the  palo  verde  and 
the  other  acacias.  Here  were  the  California  or  valley- 
quail;  and  lean,  long-legged  jack-rabbits.  Here  too 
were  the  coyotes,  leaner  than  the  rabbits,  but  efficient, 
shifty-eyed,  and  insolent.  One  could  admire  but  could 
hardly  respect  them. 

I  had  entertained  hopes  of  reaching  Parker  that  even- 
ing, but  supposed  the  hour  would  be  late  if  I  reached  it 
at  all.  Imagine  my  surprise,  then,  when  at  half-past  four 
I  heard  the  whistle  of  a  train,  and  another  turn  revealed 
the  Parker  bridge.  I  had  been  told  by  others  that  it  had 
taken  them  three  or  four  days  to  reach  this  point  on  a 
low  stage  of  water.  Evidently  the  high  water  is  much 
better  for  rapid  and  interesting  travel. 

Here  at  the  bridge,  which  was  a  hundred  feet  above  the 
river,  was  a  dredge,  and  an  old  flat-bottomed  steamboat, 


FOUR  DAYS  TO  YUMA  293 

a  relic  of  a  few  years  past,  before  the  government  built 
the  Laguna  dam  above  Yuma,  and  condemned  the 
Colorado  as  a  navigable  stream.  Those  were  the  days 
which  the  Colorado  steamboat  men  recall  with  as  much 
fond  remembrance  as  the  old-time  boatmen  of  the  Missis- 
sippi remember  their  palmy  days. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  boats  were  flat-bottomed 
and  small,  it  was  real  steamboating  of  an  exciting  nature 
at  least.  At  times  they  beat  up  against  the  current  as 
far  as  the  mouth  of  the  Rio  Virgin.  In  low  water  the 
channels  shifted  back  and  forth  first  choked  with  sand  on 
one  side  of  the  stream,  then  on  the  other.  While  the 
total  fall  from  Fort  Mojave,  a  few  miles  above  Needles, 
to  the  Gulf  is  only  525  feet,  considerable  of  that  fall 
came  in  short  sections,  first  with  a  swift  descent,  then  in  a 
quiet  stretch.  Even  in  the  high- water  stage  I  was  finding 
some  such  places. 

Parker  stood  a  mile  back  from  the  river,  on  top  of  the 
level  gravelly  earth  which  stretched  for  miles  on  either 
side  of  the  river  clear  to  the  mountains.  This  earth 
and  gravel  mixture  was  so  firmly  packed  that  even  the 
cactus  had  a  scant  foothold.  The  town  interested  me 
for  one  reason  only,  this  being,  that  I  could  get  my  meals 
for  the  evening  and  the  following  morning,  instead  of 
having  to  cook  them  myself.  After  I  had  eaten  them, 
however,  there  was  a  question  in  my  mind  if  my  own  cook- 
ing, bad  as  it  was,  would  not  have  answered  the  purpose 


294  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

just  as  well.  The  place  was  a  new  railroad  town  on  an 
Indian  reservation,  a  town  of  great  expectations,  some- 
what deferred. 

It  was  not  as  interesting  to  me  as  my  next  stop  at 
Ahrenburg,  some  fifty  miles  below  Parker.  This  place, 
while  nothing  but  a  collection  of  dilapidated  adobe 
buildings,  had  an  air  of  romance  about  it  which  was 
missing  in  the  newer  town.  Ahrenburg  had  seen  its  day. 
Many  years  ago  it  was  a  busy  mining  camp,  and  the  hope 
is  entertained  by  the  faithful  who  still  reside  in  its  pictur- 
esque adobe  homes  that  it  will  come  back  with  renewed 
vigour.  Here  at  Ahrenburg  I  met  a  character  who  added 
greatly  to  the  interest  of  my  stay.  He  was  a  gigantic, 
raw-boned  Frenchman,  at  that  time  engaged  in  the 
construction  of  a  motor  boat ;  but  a  miner,  a  sailor,  and 
a  soldier  of  fortune  in  many  ways,  one  who  had  pried  into 
many  of  the  hidden  corners  of  the  country  and  had  a 
graphic  way  of  describing  what  he  had  seen.  I  was  his 
guest  until  late  that  night,  and  was  entertained  royally 
on  what  humble  fare  he  had  to  offer.  We  both  intended 
to  renew  our  acquaintance  in  the  morning,  but  some 
prowling  Mexicans  near  my  boat,  croaking  frogs,  and 
swarms  of  mosquitos  gave  me  a  restless  night.  With  the 
first  glimmer  of  daylight  I  was  up,  and  half  an  hour  later 
I  was  away  on  the  flood. 

This  was  my  big  day.  The  current  was  better  than 
much  of  that  above ;  I  was  getting  used  to  the  heat,  and, 


Copyright  by  Kotb  Bros. 
THE   CORK   SCREW:    LOWER  END  OF  BRIGHT  ANGEL  TRAIL. 


FOUR  DAYS  TO  YUMA  295 

instead  of  idly  drifting,  I  pulled  steadily  at  the  oars. 
The  river  twisted  back  and  forth  in  great  loops  with  the 
strong  current,  as  is  usual,  always  on  the  outside  of  the 
loops,  close  to  the  overhanging  banks.  I  would  keep 
my  boat  in  this  current,  with  a  wary  lookout  over  my 
shoulder  for  fallen  trees  and  sudden  turns,  which  had 
a  way  of  appearing  when  least  expected.  At  some  such 
places  the  stream  was  engaged  at  undermining  the  banks 
which  rose  eight  and  ten  feet  above  the  water.  Occasional 
sections,  containing  tons  of  earth  and  covered  with  tall, 
slender  willow  trees,  would  topple  over,  falling  on  the 
water  with  the  roar  of  a  cannon  or  a  continued  salute  of 
cannons  ;  for  the  falling,  once  started,  quite  often  extended 
for  half  a  mile  down  the  stream.  At  one  such  place 
eighteen  trees  fell  in  three  minutes,  and  it  would  be  safe 
to  say  that  a  hundred  trees  were  included  in  the  extended 
fall.  The  trees,  sixty  feet  high,  resembled  a  field  of 
gigantic  grass  or  unripened  grain ;  the  river  was  a  reaper, 
cutting  it  away  at  the  roots.  Over  they  tumbled  to  be 
buried  in  the  stream ;  the  water  would  swirl  and  boil, 
earth  and  trees  would  disappear ;  then  the  mass  of  leaf- 
covered  timber,  freed  of  the  earth,  would  wash  away  to 
lodge  on  the  first  sand-bar,  and  the  formation  of  a  new 
island  or  a  new  shore  would  begin. 

Then  again,  the  banks  were  barren,  composed  of 
gravel  and  clay,  centuries  older  than  the  verdure-covered 
land,  undisturbed,  possibly,  since  some  glacial  period  de- 


296  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

posited  it  there.  But  a  shifting  of  the  channel  directed 
the  attack  against  these  banks.  Here  the  swift  current 
would  find  a  little  irregularity  on  the  surface  and  would 
begin  its  cutting.  The  sand-laden  water  bored  exactly 
like  an  auger,  in  fast-cutting  whirls.  One  such  place  I 
watched  for  a  half-hour  from  the  very  beginning,  until 
the  undermined  section,  fourteen  feet  high,  began  to 
topple,  and  I  pulled  out  to  safety,  but  not  far  enough  to 
escape  a  ducking  in  the  resulting  wave. 

Below  this,  instead  of  a  firm  earth,  it  was  a  loose  sand 
and  gravel  mixture  twenty  feet  above  the  river.  Here 
for  half  a  mile  the  entire  bank  was  moving,  slowly  at 
the  top,  gathering  speed  at  the  bottom.  While  close  to 
this  I  heard  a  peculiar  hissing  as  of  carbonated  water 
all  about  me.  At  first  I  thought  there  were  mineral 
springs  underneath,  but  found  the  noise  was  caused  by 
breaking  air  bubbles  carried  under  the  stream  with 
the  sands.  All  this  day  such  phenomena  continued, 
sliding  sand-banks  and  tumbling  jungles.  In  these 
latter  places  some  cattle  had  suffered.  Their  trails 
ran  parallel  with  the  stream.  No  doubt  they  had  one  or 
two  places  where  they  drank  cut  down  to  the  stream. 
Knowing  nothing  of  the  cutting  underneath,  they  had 
been  precipitated  into  the  flood,  and  now  their  carcasses 
were  food  for  swarms  of  vultures  gathered  for  an  unholy 
feast. 

What  powerful,  graceful  birds  these  scavengers   are, 


FOUR   DAYS  TO  YUMA  297 

stronger  than  the  eagle  even,  tireless  and  seemingly 
motionless  as  they  drift  along  searching  every  nook  and 
cranny  for  their  provender  !  But  aside  from  a  grudgingly 
given  tribute  of  admiration  for  their  power,  one  has 
about  as  much  respect  for  them  as  for  the  equally  graceful 
rattlesnake,  that  other  product  of  nature  which  flourishes 
in  this  desert  land. 

The  bird  life  along  this  lower  part  of  the  river  was 
wonderful  in  its  variety.  The  birds  of  the  desert  mingled 
with  those  of  the  fertile  lands.  The  song-birds  vied  with 
those  of  gorgeous  plume.  Water-birds  disported  them- 
selves in  the  mud-banks  and  sloughs.  The  smaller  birds 
seemed  to  pay  little  attention  to  the  nearness  of  the 
hawks.  Kingfisher  perched  on  limbs  overhanging  the 
quiet  pools,  ready  to  drop  at  the  faintest  movement  on 
the  opaque  water ;  the  road-runner  chased  the  festive 
lizard  on  the  desert  land  back  of  the  willows.  Here 
also  in  the  mesquite  and  giant  cactus  were  thrush  and 
Western  meadow-larks  and  mocking-birds  mimicking  the 
call  of  the  cat-bird.  Down  in  the  brush  by  the  river  was 
the  happy  little  water-ousel,  as  cheerful  in  his  way  as 
the  dumpy-built  musical  canyon  wren.  The  Mexican 
crossbill  appeared  to  have  little  fear  of  the  migrating 
Northern  shrike.  There  were  warblers,  cardinals,  tan- 
agers,  waxwings,  song-sparrows,  and  chickadees.  Flitting 
droves  of  bush-tit  dropped  on  to  slender  weeds,  scarcely 
bending  them,  so  light  were  they.  Then  in  a  minute 


298  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

they  were  gone.  In  the  swamps  or  marshes  were  count- 
less red-wTinged  blackbirds. 

The  most  unobservant  person  could  not  help  but  see 
birds  here.  I  had  expected  to  find  water-fowl,  for  the 
Colorado  delta  is  their  breeding  place ;  but  I  little  ex- 
pected to  find  so  many  land  birds  in  the  trees  along  the 
river.  Instead  of  having  a  lonesome  trip,  every  minute 
was  filled  with  something  new,  interesting,  and  beautiful, 
and  I  was  having  the  time  of  my  life. 

I  camped  that  night  at  Picachio,  —  meaning  the 
Pocket,  —  eighty  miles  below  Ahrenburg.  This  is  still 
a  mining  district,  but  the  pockets  containing  nuggets 
of  gold  which  gave  the  place  its  name  seem  to  have  all 
been  discovered  at  the  time  of  the  boom  ;  the  mining  now 
done  is  in  quartz  ledges  up  on  the  sides  of  grim,  mineral- 
stained  hills.  I  was  back  in  the  land  of  rock  again,  a 
land  showing  the  forces  of  nature  in  high  points  of  foreign 
rock,  shot  up  from  beneath,  penetrating  the  crust  of  the 
earth  and  in  a  few  places  emerging  for  a  height  of  two 
hundred  feet  from  the  river  itself,  forming  barren  islands 
and  great  circling  whirlpools,  as  large  as  that  in  the 
Niagara  gorge,  and  I  thought,  for  a  while,  almost  as 
powerful.  In  one  I  attempted  to  keep  to  the  short  side 
of  the  river,  but  found  it  a  difficult  job,  and  one  which 
took  three  times  as  long  to  accomplish  as  if  I  had  allowed 
myself  to  be  carried  around  the  circle. 

Then  the  land  became  level  again,  and  the  Chocolate 


FOUR  DAYS  TO  YUMA  299 

Mountains  were  seen  to  the  west.  A  hard  wind  blew 
across  the  stream,  so  that  I  had  to  drop  my  sunshade  to 
prevent  being  carried  against  the  rocks.  This  day  I 
passed  a  large  irrigation  canal  leading  off  from  the  stream, 
the  second  such  on  the  entire  course  of  the  Colorado. 
Here  a  friendly  ranchman  called  to  me  from  the  shore 
and  warned  me  of  the  Laguna  dam  some  distance  below. 
He  said  the  water  was  backed  up  for  three  miles,  so  I 
would  know  when  I  was  approaching  it. 

In  spite  of  this  warning,  I  nearly  came  to  grief  at 
the  dam.  The  wind  had  shifted  until  it  blew  directly 
down  the  stream.  The  river,  nearly  a  mile  wide,  still 
ran  with  a  powerful  current ;  I  ceased  rowing  and  drifted 
down,  over  waves  much  like  those  one  would  find  on  a 
lake  driven  by  a  heavy  wind.  I  saw  some  high  poles 
and  a  heavy  electric  cable  stretched  across  the  stream, 
and  concluded  that  this  was  the  beginning  of  the  dam. 
I  began  to  look  ahead  for  some  sign  of  a  barrier  across 
the  stream,  far  below,  but  I  could  see  nothing  of  the 
kind ;  then  as  I  neared  the  poles  it  suddenly  dawned  on 
me  that  there  was  no  raised  barrier  which  diverted  all 
the  water  through  a  sluice,  but  a  submerged  dam,  over 
which  the  flood  poured,  and  that  the  poles  were  on  that 
dam. 

My  sail-like  sunshade  was  dropped  as  quickly  as 
I  could  do  it,  and,  grabbing  the  oars,  I  began  to  pull  for  the 
California  shore. 


300  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  I  happened  to  be  com- 
paratively near  the  shore  when  I  began  rowing.  As  it 
was,  I  landed  below  the  diverting  canal,  and  about  a 
hundred  yards  above  the  dam.  On  examination  the 
dam  proved  to  be  a  slope  about  fifty  feet  long.  A  man 
in  charge  of  the  machinery  controlling  the  gates  told 
me  that  the  dam  lacked  seven  feet  of  being  a  mile  wide, 
and  that  approximately  seven  feet  of  water  was  going 
over  the  entire  dam. 

Great  cement  blocks  and  rocks  had  been  dropped 
promiscuously  below  the  dam  to  prevent  it  from  being 
undermined.  Even  without  the  rocks  it  was  doubtful 
if  an  uncovered  boat  could  go  through  without  upsetting. 
The  great  force  of  the  water  made  a  trough  four  or  five 
feet  lower  than  the  river  level,  all  water  coming  down 
the  slope  shooting  underneath,  while  the  river  rolled 
back  upstream.  On  two  occasions  boatmen  had  been 
carried  over  the  dam.  In  each  case  the  boat  was 
wrecked,  but  the  occupants  were  thrown  out  and  escaped 
uninjured.  I  could  not  help  but  be  amused,  and  feel  a 
little  uncomfortable  too,  when  I  saw  how  nearly  I  came 
to  being  wrecked  here,  after  having  escaped  that  fate  in 
the  rapids  of  the  canyons. 

I  ran  my  boat  back  to  the  diverting  canal,  then  rowed 
down  to  the  massive  cement  gates,  which  looked  to  me 
like  a  small  replica  of  some  of  the  locks  on  the  Panama 
Canal.  With  the  help  of  an  Indian  who  was  ready  for 


FOUR  DAYS  TO  YUMA  301 

a  job  my  boat  was  taken  out,  rolled  around  the  buildings 
on  some  sections  of  pipe,  and  slid  over  the  bank  into  the 
canal  below  the  gates. 

In  spite  of  a  desire  to  spend  some  time  inspecting  the 
machinery  of  this  great  work,  —  which,  with  the  canal 
and  other  improvements,  had  cost  the  government  over  a 
million  dollars  —  I  immediately  resumed  my  rowing. 
It  was  mid-afternoon,  and  measured  by  the  canal,  which 
was  direct,  it  was  twelve  miles  to  Yuma.  But  I  soon 
learned  that  great  winding  curves  made  it  much  farther 
by  the  river.  In  some  cases  it  nearly  doubled  back  on 
itself.  The  wind  had  shifted  by  this  time  and  blew  against 
me  so  hard  that  it  was  almost  useless  to  attempt  rowing. 
In  another  place  there  were  no  banks,  and  the  water  had 
spread  for  three  miles  in  broken  sloughs  and  around 
half-submerged  islands,  the  one  deep  channel  being 
lost  in  the  maze  of  shallow  ones.  With  these  things  to 
contend  with  it  was  dusk  long  before  I  neared  the  town, 
the  twelve  miles  having  stretched  to  twenty.  Finally  I 
saw  a  windmill  partly  submerged.  Some  distance  away 
was  a  small  ranch  house  also  in  the  water.  The  house, 
with  lights  in  the  upper  story,  was  a  cheering  sight ;  the 
windmill  looked  out  of  place  in  the  midst  of  all  this  desola- 
tion of  water.  Soon  other  houses  appeared  with  lights 
showing  through  the  windows.  Once  I  lost  my  way  and 
spent  a  half  hour  in  getting  back  to  the  right  channel. 

Somewhere  in  the  dark,  I  never  knew  just  when,  I 


302   THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

passed  the  mouth  of  the  Gila  River.  In  a  similar  way,  in 
broad  daylight  I  had  passed  the  Bill  Williams  Fork 
above  Ahrenburg. 

At  last  I  neared  the  town.  I  could  discern  some  build- 
ings on  top  of  a  small  hill,  evidently  one  of  the  back  streets 
of  Yuma.  After  tying  my  boat,  I  hid  my  small  load 
in  some  mesquite  trees,  then  climbed  the  hill  and  passed 
between  two  peculiar  stone  houses  dark  as  dungeons. 
They  puzzled  me  from  the  outside,  but  when  once  past 
them,  I  was  no  longer  in  doubt.  I  had  entered  the  open 
gateway  leading  to  the  courtyard  of  the  Yuma  peniten- 
tiary. No  wonder  the  buildings  looked  like  dungeons. 
This  was  a  new  experience  for  me,  but  somehow  I  had 
always  imagined  just  how  it  would  look.  I  was  consid- 
ering beating  a  retreat  when  a  guard  hailed  me  and  asked 
me  if  I  was  not  lost.  With  the  assistance  of  the  guard,  I 
escaped  from  the  pen  and  found  my  way  to  the  streets  of 
Yuma,  just  four  days  after  leaving  the  Needles  bridge. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ACROSS    THE   MEXICO    BORDER 

"MEXICO  is  a  good  place  to  keep  away  from  just  at 
present."  This  was  the  invariable  answer  to  a  few  casual 
inquiries  concerning  what  I  would  be  likely  to  meet  with 
in  the  way  of  difficulties,  a  possible  companion  for  the 
voyage  to  the  Gulf,  and  how  one  could  get  back  when 
once  there.  I  received  little  encouragement  from  the 
people  of  Yuma.  The  cautions  came  not  from  the  timid 
who  see  danger  in  every  rumour,  but  from  the  old  steam- 
boat captains,  the  miners,  and  prospectors  who  knew  the 
country  and  had  interests  in  mineral  claims  across  the 
border.  These  claims  they  had  lost  in  many  cases 
because  they  had  failed  for  the  last  two  years  to  keep 
up  their  assessment  work.  There  were  vague  suggestions 
of  being  stood  up  against  an  adobe  wall  with  a  row  of 
"yaller  bellies"  in  front,  or  being  thrown  into  damp  dun- 
geons and  held  for  a  ransom. 

The  steamboat  men  could  give  me  little  information 
about  the  river.  The  old  channel  had  filled  with  silt, 
and  the  river  was  diverted  into  a  roundabout  course 

303 


304  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

little  more  than  a  creek  in  width,  then  spread  over  the 
whole  delta.  The  widely  spread  water  finally  collected 
into  an  ancient  course  of  the  Colorado,  known  as  the 
Hardy  or  False  Colorado.  As  nearly  as  I  could  learn 
no  one  from  Yuma  had  been  through  this  new  channel 
beyond  a  certain  point  called  Volcanic  Lake.  Two 
or  three  parties  had  come  back  with  stories  of  having 
attempted  it,  but  found  themselves  in  the  middle  of 
a  cane-brake  with  insufficient  water  to  float  a  boat.  With 
a  desire  to  be  of  real  assistance  to  me,  one  old  captain 
called  a  Yuma  Indian  into  his  office  and  asked  him  his 
opinion,  suggesting  that  he  might  go  along. 

"Mebbe  so  get  lost  in  the  trees,  mebbe  so  get  shot 
by  the  Cocopah,"  the  Indian  replied  as  he  shook  his  head. 

The  captain  laughed  at  the  last  and  said  that  the 
Yuma  and  Cocopah  Indians  were  not  the  best  of  friends, 
and  accused  each  other  of  all  sorts  of  things  which  neither 
had  committed.  Some  Mexicans  and  certain  outlawed 
whites  who  kept  close  to  the  border  for  different  reasons, 
and  the  possibilities  of  bogging  in  a  cane-brake  were  the 
only  uncertainties.  In  so  many  words  he  advised  me 
against  going. 

Still  I  persevered.  I  had  planned  so  long  on  completing 
my  boating  trip  to  the  Gulf,  that  I  disliked  to  abandon  the 
idea  altogether.  I  felt  sure,  with  a  flood  on  the  Colorado, 
there  w^ould  be  some  channel  that  a  flat-bottomed  boat 
could  go  through,  when  travelling  with  the  current ; 


ACROSS  THE  MEXICO  BORDER  305 

but  the  return  trip  and  the  chances  of  being  made  a 
target  for  some  hidden  native  who  had  lived  on  this 
unfriendly  border  and  had  as  much  reason  for  respecting 
some  citizens  of  the  United  States  as  our  own  Indians 
had  in  the  frontier  days,  caused  me  considerable  con- 
cern. I  knew  it  was  customary  everywhere  to  make 
much  of  the  imaginary  dangers,  as  we  had  found  in  our 
other  journeys ;  but  it  is  not  difficult  to  discriminate 
between  sound  advice  and  the  croakings  which  are  based 
on  lack  of  real  information.  I  knew  this  was  sound 
advice,  and  as  usual  I  disliked  to  follow  it.  At  last  I 
got  some  encouragement.  It  came  from  a  retired  Wild 
West  showman,  —  the  real  thing,  one  who  knew  the  West 
from  its  early  days.  He  laughed  at  the  idea  of  danger 
and  said  I  was  not  likely  to  find  any  one,  even  if  I  was 
anxious  to  do  so,  until  I  got  to  the  La  Bolso  Ranch  near  the 
Gulf.  They  would  be  glad  to  see  me.  He  thought  it 
was  likely  to  prove  uninteresting  unless  I  intended  to 
hunt  wild  hogs,  but  that  was  useless  without  dogs,  and 
I  would  have  trouble  getting  a  gun  past  the  custom 
officers.  His  advice  was  to  talk  with  the  Mexican  consul, 
as  he  might  know  some  one  who  could  bring  me  back  by 
horseback. 

In  the  consul  I  found  a  young  Spaniard,  all  affability, 
bows,  and  gestures ;  and  without  being  conscious  of  it  at 
first  I  too  began  making  motions.  He  deplored  my  lack 
of  knowledge  of  the  Spanish  language,  laughed  at  any 


306  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

suggestion  of  trouble,  as  all  trouble  was  in  Eastern  Sonora, 
he  said,  separated  from  the  coast  by  two  hundred  miles  of 
desert,  and  stated  that  the  non-resident  owner  of  the  La 
Bolsa  cattle  ranch  happened  to  be  in  the  building  at 
that  moment.  In  a  twinkling  he  had  me  before  him  and 
explained  the  situation.  This  gentleman,  the  owner 
of  a  6oo,ooo-acre  grant,  and  the  fishing  concession  of  the 
Gulf,  stated  that  the  ranch  drove  a  team  to  Yuma  once 
a  week,  that  they  would  bring  me  back ;  in  the  interval 
I  must  consider  myself  the  guest  of  the  Rancho  La 
Bolsa.  The  consul  gave  me  a  passport,  and  so  it  was 
all  arranged. 

In  spite  of  the  consul's  opinion,  there  were  many 
whispered  rumours  of  war,  of  silent  automobiles  loaded  with 
firearms  that  stole  out  of  town  under  cover  of  the  night 
and  returned  in  four  days,  and  another  of  a  river  channel 
that  could  be  followed  and  was  followed,  the  start  being 
made,  not  from  Yuma,  but  from  another  border  town 
farther  west.  A  year  before  there  had  been  an  outbreak 
at  this  place  of  certain  restless  spirits,  —  some  whites 
included,  —  and  they  went  along  the  northern  line 
of  Mexico,  sacking  the  ranches  and  terrorizing  the  people. 
The  La  Bolsa  ranch  was  among  those  that  suffered.  The 
party  contained  some  discharged  vaqueros  who  were 
anxious  to  interview  the  ranch  foreman,  but  fortunately 
for  him  he  was  absent.  Then  they  turned  south  to  Chi- 
hauhau  and  joined  the  army  of  Madero.  War,  to  them, 


ACROSS  THE  MEXICO  BORDER  307 

meant  license  to  rob  and  kill.  They  were  not  insur- 
rectos,  but  bandits,  and  this  was  the  class  that  was  most 
feared. 

Meanwhile  I  had  not  given  up  the  idea  of  a  possible 
companion.  Before  coming  to  Yuma  I  had  entertained 
hopes  of  getting  some  one  with  a  motor  boat  to  take  me 
down  and  back,  but  there  were  no  motor  boats,  I  found. 
The  nearest  approach  to  a  power  boat  was  an  attempt 
that  was  being  made  to  install  the  engine  from  a  wrecked 
steam  auto  on  a  sort  of  flat-bottomed  scow.  I  heard 
of  this  boat  three  or  four  times,  and  in  each  case  the  in- 
formation was  accompanied  by  a  smile  and  some  vague 
remarks  about  a  "hybrid."  I  hunted  up  the  owner, — 
the  proprietor  of  a  shooting  gallery,  —  a  man  who  had 
once  had  aspirations  as  a  heavy-weight  prize  fighter,  but 
had  met  with  discouragement.  So  he  had  turned  his 
activities  to  teaching  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot  — 
especially  the  "Mexican  idea"  and  those  other  border 
spirits  who  were  itching  for  a  scrap. 

The  proprietor  of  the  shooting  gallery  drove  a  thriving 
trade.  Since  he  had  abandoned  his  training  he  had 
taken  on  fat,  and  I  found  him  to  be  a  genial  sort  of  giant 
who  refused  to  concern  himself  with  the  serious  side  of 
life.  Even  a  lacing  he  had  received  in  San  Francisco 
at  the  hands  of  a  negro  stevedore  struck  him  as  being 
humorous.  He  did  not  seem  to  have  much  more  con- 
fidence in  his  "power  boat"  than  the  others,  but 


308  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

said  I  might  talk  with  the  man  who  was  putting  it  to- 
gether, ending  with  the  remark  "Phillipps  thinks  he 
can  make  her  run,  and  he  has  always  talked  of  going 
to  the  Gulf." 

On  investigation  I  found  Al  Phillipps  was  anxious  to 
go  to  the  Gulf,  and  would  go  along  if  I  would  wait  until 
he  got  his  boat  in  shape.  This  would  take  two  days. 
Phillipps,  as  he  told  me  himself,  was  a  Jayhawker  who 
had  left  the  farm  in  Kansas  and  had  gone  to  sea  for  two 
years.  He  was  a  cowboy,  but  had  worked  a  year  or 
two  about  mining  engines.  In  Yuma  he  was  a  carpenter, 
but  was  anxious  to  leave  and  go  prospecting  along  the 
Gulf.  Phillipps  and  I  were  sure  to  have  an  interesting 
time.  He  spoke  Spanish  and  did  not  fear  any  of  the 
previously  mentioned  so-called  dangers ;  he  had  heard  of 
one  party  being  carried  out  to  sea  when  the  tide  rushed 
out  of  the  river,  but  as  we  would  have  low  tide  he  thought 
that,  with  caution,  we  could  avoid  that. 

At  last  all  was  ready  for  the  momentous  trial.  The 
river  bank  was  lined  with  a  crowd  of  men  who  seemed  to 
have  plenty  of  leisure.  Some  long-haired  Yuma  Indians, 
and  red  and  green  turbaned  Papagos,  gathered  in  a  group 
off  a  little  to  one  side.  A  number  of  darkies  were  fishing 
for  bullheads,  and  boys  of  three  colors  besides  the  Mexi- 
cans and  a  lone  Chinaman  clambered  over  the  trees 
and  the  boats  along  the  shore. 

It   was   a   moment   of   suspense   for   Phillipps.     His 


ACROSS  THE  MEXICO  BORDER  309 

reputation  as  an  engineer  and  a  constructor  of  boats 
hung  in  the  balance.  He  also  had  some  original  ideas 
about  a  rudder  which  had  been  incorporated  in  this 
boat.  Now  was  his  chance  to  test  them  out,  and  his 
hour  of  triumph  if  they  worked. 

The  test  was  a  rigid  one.  The  boat  was  to  be  turned 
upstream  against  an  eight-mile  current  with  big  sand- 
waves,  beginning  about  sixty  feet  from  the  shore,  running 
in  the  middle  of  the  river.  If  the  engine  ran,  and  the 
stern  paddle-wheel  turned,  his  reputation  was  saved. 
If  she  was  powerful  enough  to  go  against  the  current, 
it  was  a  triumph  and  we  would  start  for  the  Gulf  at 
once. 

On  board  were  Phillipps,  a  volunteer,  and  myself. 
Before  turning  the  boat  loose,  the  engine  was  tried. 
It  was  a  success.  The  paddle-wheel  churned  the  water 
at  a  great  rate,  sending  the  boat  upstream  as  far  as  the 
ropes  would  let  her  go.  We  would  try  a  preliminary 
run  in  the  quiet  water  close  to  the  shore,  before  making 
the  test  in  the  swift  current.  The  order  was  given  to 
cast  off,  and  for  two  men,  the  owner  and  another,  to  hold  to 
the  ropes  and  follow  on  the  shore.  The  engine  was 
started,  the  paddle-wheel  revolved,  slowly  at  first  but 
gathering  speed  with  each  revolution.  We  began  to 
move  gently,  then  faster,  so  that  the  men  on  shore  had 
difficulty  in  keeping  even  with  us,  impeded  as  they  were 
with  bushes  and  sloping  banks.  Flushed  with  success, 


310  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

the  order  was  given  to  turn  her  loose,  and  we  gathered 
in  the  ropes.  Now  we  were  drifting  away  from  the  shore, 
and  making  some  headway  against  the  swift  current. 
The  crowd  on  shore  was  left  behind. 

But  as  we  left  the  bank  the  river  increased  in  speed, 
and  the  boat  gradually  lost.  Then  she  stood  still,  but 
began  to  turn  slowly,  broadside  to  the  current.  This 
was  something  we  had  not  foreseen.  With  no  headway, 
the  rudder  was  of  no  avail.  There  was  no  sweep-oar; 
we  had  even  neglected  to  put  an  oar  on  the  boat.  With 
pieces  of  boards  the  stranger  and  I  paddled,  trying  to 
hold  her  straight,  but  all  the  time,  in  spite  of  our  efforts, 
she  drifted  away  from  the  land  and  slowly  turned.  A  big 
sand-wave  struck  her,  she  wheeled  in  her  tracks  and 
raced  straight  for  a  pier,  down  the  stream. 

About  this  time  our  engineer  began  having  trouble 
with  his  engine.  At  first  we  feared  it  would  not  run,  now 
it  seemed  it  would  not  stop. 

A  great  shout  went  up  from  the  shore,  and  a  bet  was 
made  that  we  would  run  to  the  Gulf  in  less  than  a  day. 
A  darky  boy  fell  off  a  boat  in  the  excitement,  the  Indians 
did  a  dance,  men  pounded  each  other  and  whooped  for 
joy.  Then  a  bolt  came  loose,  and  the  engine  ran  away. 
Driving-rod  and  belts  were  whirled  "regardless,"  as  the 
passenger  afterwards  said,  about  our  heads. 

Then  the  crash  came.  Our  efforts  to  escape  the  pier 
were  of  no  avail.  I  made  a  puny  effort  to  break  the 


ACROSS  THE  MEXICO  BORDER  311 

impact  with  a  pole,  but  was  sent  sprawling  on  the  deck. 
Al  tumbled  headlong  on  top  of  the  engine,  which  he  had 
stopped  at  last,  our  passenger  rolled  over  and  over, 
but  we  all  stayed  with  the  ship.  Each  grabbing  a 
board,  we  began  to  paddle  and  steered  the  craft  to  the 
shore. 

With  the  excitement  over,  the  crowd  faded  away. 
Only  two  or  three  willing  hands  remained  to  help  us  line 
the  craft  back  to  the  landing.  The  owner,  who  had 
to  run  around  the  end  of  the  bridge,  came  down  puffing 
and  blowing,  badly  winded,  at  the  end  of  the  first  round. 
Without  a  word  from  any  one  we  brought  the  boat  back 
to  the  landing. 

Al  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  he  asked. 

"Me  ?  I'm  going  to  take  my  boat  and  start  for  the 
Gulf  in  ten  minutes.  I'll  take  nothing  that  I  cannot 
carry.  If  I  have  to  leave  the  river  I  will  travel  light 
across  the  desert  to  Calexico.  I  think  that  I  can 
get  through.  If  you  want  to  go  along,  I'll  stick 
with  you  until  we  get  back.  What  do  you  think 
about  it  ?" 

It  was  a  long  speech  and  a  little  bitter  perhaps.  I 
felt  that  way.  The  disappointment  on  top  of  the  three 
days'  delay  when  time  was  precious  could  not  be  forgotten 
in  a  moment.  And  when  my  speech  was  said  I  was  all 
through. 


312  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

Al  said  he  would  be  ready  in  half  an  hour.  Our  beds 
were  left  behind.  Al  had  a  four-yard  square  of  canvas 
for  a  sail.  This  would  be  sufficient  covering  at  night 
in  the  hot  desert.  We  had  two  canteens.  The  provi- 
sions, scarcely  touched  before  arriving  here,  were  suffi- 
cient for  five  days.  I  was  so  anxious  to  get  started  that 
I  did  not  take  the  time  to  replenish  them  in  Yuma,  in- 
tending to  do  so  at  the  custom-house  on  the  Arizona  side, 
twelve  miles  below,  where  some  one  had  told  me  there  was 
a  store.  I  counted  on  camping  there.  After  a  hurriedly 
eaten  luncheon  we  were  ready  to  start,  the  boat  was 
shoved  off,  and  we  were  embarked  for  Mexico. 

Half  an  hour  later  we  passed  the  abandoned  Imperial 
Canal,  the  man-made  channel  which  had  nearly  destroyed 
the  vast  agricultural  lands  which  it  had  in  turn  created. 
Just  such  a  flood  as  that  on  which  we  were  travelling  had 
torn  out  the  insufficiently  supported  head-gates.  The 
entire  stream,  instead  of  pushing  slowly  across  the  delta, 
weltering  in  its  own  silt  to  the  Gulf,  poured  into  the  bot- 
tom of  the  basin  nearly  four  hundred  feet  below  the  top 
of  this  silt-made  dam.  In  a  single  night  it  cut  an  eighty- 
foot  channel  in  the  unyielding  soil,  and  what  had  once 
been  the  northern  end  of  the  California  Gulf  was  turned 
into  an  inland  sea,  filled  with  the  turbid  waters  of  the 
Colorado,  instead  of  the  sparkling  waters  of  the  ocean. 
Nothing  but  an  almost  superhuman  fight  finally  rescued 
the  land  from  the  grip  of  the  water. 


ACROSS  THE  MEXICO  BORDER  313 

A  short  distance  below,  just  across  the  Mexican  line, 
on  the  California  side,  was  the  new  canal,  dug  in  a  firmer 
soil  and  with  strongly  built  gates  anchored  in  rock  back 
from  the  river. 

Half  a  mile  away  from  the  stream,  on  a  spur  railway, 
was  the  Mexican  custom-house.  I  had  imagined  that 
it  would  be  beside  the  river,  and  that  guards  would  be 
seen  patrolling  the  shore.  But  aside  from  an  Indian 
fishing,  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen.  We  walked  out 
to  the  custom-house,  gave  a  list  of  the  few  things  which 
we  had,  assured  them  that  we  carried  no  guns,  paid  our 
duty,  and  departed.  We  had  imagined  that  our  boat 
would  be  inspected,  but  no  one  came  near. 

The  border  line  makes  a  jog  here  at  the  river  and 
the  Arizona-Mexico  line  was  still  a  few  miles  down  the 
stream.  We  had  passed  the  mouth  of  the  old  silt-dammed 
Colorado  channel,  which  flowed  a  little  west  of  south ; 
and  we  turned  instead  to  the  west  into  the  spreading 
delta  or  moraine.  About  this  time  I  remarked  that  I 
had  seen  no  store  at  the  custom-house  and  that  I  must 
not  neglect  to  get  provisions  at  the  next  one  or  we  would 
be  rather  short. 

"We  passed  our  last  custom-house  back  there." 
Al  replied,  "That's  likely  the  last  place  we  will  see  until 
we  get  to  the  ranch  by  the  Gulf." 

No  custom-house  !  No  store  !  This  was  a  surprise. 
What  was  a  border  for  if  not  to  have  custom-houses  and 


314  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

inspectors  ?  With  all  the  talk  of  smuggling  I  had  not 
thought  of  anything  else.  And  I  could  tell  by  Al's  tone 
that  his  estimation  of  my  foresight  had  dropped  several 
degrees.  This  was  only  natural,  for  his  disappointment 
and  the  jibes  still  rankled. 

At  last  we  were  wholly  in  Mexican  territory.  With 
the  States  behind,  all  of  our  swiftly  running  water  had 
departed,  and  we  now  travelled  on  a  stream  that  was 
nearly  stagnant.  All  the  cottonwood  logs  which  had 
finally  been  carried  down  the  stream  after  having  been 
deposited  on  a  hundred  shores,  found  here  their  final  rest- 
ing place.  About  each  cluster  of  logs  an  island  was 
forming,  covered  with  a  rank  grass  and  tules. 

Ramified  channels  wound  here  and  there.  Two  or 
three  times  we  found  ourselves  in  a  shallow  channel, 
and  with  some  difficulty  retraced  our  way.  All  channels 
looked  alike,  but  only  one  was  deep. 

Then  the  willow  trees  which  were  far  distant  on  either 
shore  began  to  close  in  and  we  travelled  in  a  channel  not 
more  than  a  hundred  feet  wide,  growing  smaller  with 
every  mile.  This  new  channel  is  sometimes  termed  the 
Bee  River.  It  parallels  the  northern  Mexico  line;  it 
also  parallels  a  twenty-five  mile  levee  which  the  United 
States  government  has  constructed  along  the  northern 
edge  of  this  fifty-mile  wide  dam  shoved  across  the  Cali- 
fornia Gulf  by  the  stream,  building  higher  every  year. 
Except  for  the  river  channel  the  dam  may  be  said  to 


ACROSS  THE  MEXICO  BORDER  315 

reach  unbroken  from  the  Arizona-Sonora  Mesa  to  the 
Cocopah  Mountains.  The  levee  runs  from  a  point  of 
rocks  near  the  river  to  Lone  Mountain,  a  solitary  peak 
some  distance  east  of  the  main  range.  This  levee,  built 
since  the  trouble  with  the  canal,  is  all  that  prevents  the 
water  from  breaking  into  the  basin  in  a  dozen  places. 

We  saw  signs  of  two  or  three  camp-fires  close  to  the 
stream,  and  with  the  memory  of  the  stories  haunting  us  a 
little  we  built  only  a  small  fire  when  we  cooked  our  even- 
ing meal,  then  extinguished  it,  and  camped  on  a  dry 
point  of  land  a  mile  or  two  below.  I  think  we  were  both 
a  little  nervous  that  night ;  I  confess  that  I  was,  and  if  an 
unwashed  black-bearded  individual  had  poked  his  head 
out  from  the  willows  and  said,  "Woof!"  or  whatever 
it  is  that  they  say  when  they  want  to  start  up  a  jack- 
rabbit,  we  would  both  have  stampeded  clear  across  the 
border.  In  fact  I  felt  a  little  as  I  did  when  I  played 
truant  from  school  and  wondered  what  would  happen 
when  I  was  found  out. 

Daybreak  found  us  ready  to  resume  our  journey, 
and  with  a  rising  sun  any  nervousness  vanished.  What 
could  any  one  want  with  two  men  who  had  nothing  but 
a  flat-bottomed  boat  ? 

All  the  morning  we  travelled  west,  the  trees  ever 
drawing  closer  as  our  water  departed  on  the  south,  run- 
ning through  the  willows,  arrow-weed,  and  cat-tails. 
Then  the  channel  opened  into  Volcanic  Lake,  a  circular 


316  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

body  of  water,  which  is  not  a  lake  but  simply  a  gathering 
together  of  the  streams  we  had  been  losing,  and  here  the 
water  stands,  depositing  its  mud.  All  the  way  across 
it  had  no  depth  but  a  bottomless  mud,  so  soft  it  would 
engulf  a  person  if  he  tried  to  wade  across. 

On  the  west  there  was  no  growth.  The  shore  was 
nothing  but  an  ash-like  powder,  not  a  sand,  but  a  rich 
soil  blown  here  and  there,  building  in  dunes  against 
every  obstruction,  ever  moving  before  the  wind.  Here 
were  boiling,  sputtering  mud  pots  and  steam  vents  build- 
ing up  and  exhausting  through  mud  pipe-stems,  rising  a 
foot  or  two  above  the  springs.  Here  was  a  shelter  or 
two  of  sun-warped  boards  constructed  by  those  who 
come  here  crippled  with  rheumatism  and  are  supposed 
to  depart,  cured.  Here  we  saw  signs  of  a  wagon  track 
driven  toward  Calexico,  the  border  town  directly  north 
of  the  lake.  The  heat  was  scorching,  the  sun,  reflected 
from  the  sand  and  water,  was  blistering,  and  we  could 
well  imagine  what  a  walk  across  that  ash-like  soil  would 
mean.  Mirages  in  the  distance  beckoned,  trees  and 
lakes  were  seen  over  toward  the  mountains  where  we 
had  seen  nothing  but  desert  before ;  heat  waves  rose  and 
fell.  Our  mouths  began  to  puff  from  the  reflected  sun, 
our  faces  burned  and  peeled,  black  and  red  in  spots.  There 
was  no  indication  of  the  slightest  breeze  until  about  three 
o'clock,  when  the  wind  moved  gently  across  the  lake. 

We  had  skirted  the  northern  part  of  the  circle,  pass- 


ACROSS  THE  MEXICO  BORDER  317 

ing  a  few  small  streams  and  then  found  one  of  the  three 
large  channels  which  empty  the  lake.  As  it  happened 
we  took  the  one  on  the  outside,  and  the  longest.  The 
growth  grew  thicker  than  ever,  the  stream  choked  down 
to  fifty  feet.  Now  it  began  to  loop  backward  and  for- 
ward and  back  again,  as  though  trying  to  make  the  long- 
est and  crookedest  channel  possible  in  the  smallest  space. 
The  water  in  the  channel  was  stagnant,  swift  streamlets 
rushed  in  from  the  tules  on  the  north,  and  rushed  out 
again  on  the  south.  It  was  not  always  a  simple  matter 
to  ascertain  which  was  the  main  channel.  Others  just 
as  large  were  diverted  from  the  stream.  Twice  we 
attempted  to  cut  across,  but  the  water  became  shallow, 
the  tules  stalled  our  boats,  and  we  were  glad  to  return, 
sounding  with  a  pole  when  in  doubt. 

Then  we  began  to  realize  that  we  were  not  entirely 
alone  in  this  wilderness  of  water.  We  saw  evidence  of 
another's  passage,  in  broken  cat-tails  and  blazed  trees. 
In  many  places  he  had  pushed  into  the  thickets.  We 
concluded  it  must  be  a  trapper.  At  last,  to  our  surprise, 
we  saw  a  telephone  equipment,  sheltered  in  a  box  nailed 
on  a  water-surrounded  tree.  The  line  ran  directly 
across  the  stream.  Here  also  we  could  see  where  a  boat 
had  forced  a  wiy  through,  and  the  water  plants  had  been 
cut  with  a  sharp  instrument.  What  could  it  be  ?  We 
were  certain  no  line  ran  to  the  only  ranch  at  the  Gulf. 
We  had  information  of  another  ranch  directly  on  the  bor- 


3 1 8  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

der  line,  but  did  not  think  it  came  below  the  levee,  and 
as  far  as  we  had  learned,  there  were  no  homes  but  the 
wickiups  of  the  Cocopah  in  the  jungles.  It  was  like  one 
of  those  thrilling  stories  of  Old  Sleuth  and  Dead  Shot 
Dick  which  we  read,  concealed  in  our  schoolbooks,  when 
we  were  supposed  to  be  studying  the  physical  geography 
of  Mexico.  But  the  telephone  was  no  fiction,  and  had 
recently  been  repaired,  but  for  what  purpose  it  was  there 
we  could  not  imagine.  After  leaving  the  lake  there  was 
no  dry  land.  At  night  our  boat,  filled  with  green  tules 
for  a  bed,  was  tied  to  a  willow  tree,  with  its  roots  sub- 
merged in  ten  feet  of  water.  Never  were  there  such  swarms 
of  mosquitos.  In  the  morning  our  faces  were  corrugated 
with  lumps,  not  a  single  exposed  spot  remaining  unbitten. 

The  loops  continued  with  the  next  day's  travel,  but 
we  were  gradually  working  to  the  southwest,  then  they 
began  to  straighten  out  somewhat,  as  the  diverted  streams 
returned.  We  thought  early  in  the  morning  that  we 
would  pass  about  ten  miles  to  the  east  of  the  coast  range, 
but  it  was  not  to  be.  Directly  to  the  base  of  the  dark, 
heat-vibrating  rocks  we  pulled,  and  landed  on  the  first 
shore  that  we  had  seen  for  twenty-four  hours. 

Here  was  a  recently  used  trail,  and  tracks  where 
horses  came  down  to  the  water.  Here  too  was  the 
track  of  a  barefooted  Cocopah,  a  tribe  noted  for  its  men 
of  gigantic  build,  and  with  great  feet  out  of  all  propor- 
tion to  their  size.  If  that  footprint  was  to  be  fossilized, 


Copyright  by  Koto  Bros. 
ZOROASTER  TEMPLE:    FROM  THE  END  OF   BRIGHT  ANGEL  TRAIL. 


ACROSS  THE  MEXICO  BORDER  319 

future  generations  would  marvel  at  the  evidence  of  some 
gigantic  prehistoric  animal,  an  alligator  with  a  human- 
shaped  foot.  These  Indians  have  lived  in  these  mud 
bottoms  so  long,  crossing  the  streams  on  rafts  made  of 
bundles  of  tules,  and  only  going  to  the  higher  land  when 
their  homes  are  inundated  by  the  floods,  that  they  have 
become  a  near  approach  to  a  web-footed  human  being. 

Our  stream  merely  touched  the  mountain,  then  turned 
directly  to  the  southeast  in  a  gradually  increasing  stream. 
Now  we  began  to  see  the  breeding  places  of  the  water- 
birds  of  which  we  had  heard.  There  was  a  confusion 
of  bird  calls,  sand-hill  cranes  were  everywhere ;  in  some 
cases  with  five  stick-built  nests  in  a  single  water-killed 
tree.  A  blue  heron  flopped  around  as  though  it  had 
broken  a  wing,  to  decoy  us  from  its  nest.  The  snowy 
white  pelican  waddled  along  the  banks  and  mingled  with 
the  cormorants.  There  were  great  numbers  of  gulls, 
and  occasional  snipe.  We  were  too  late  to  see  the  ducks 
which  come  here,  literally  by  the  million,  during  the  win- 
ter months.  There  were  hawks'  nests  in  the  same  groups 
of  trees  as  the  cranes,  with  the  young  hawks  stretching 
their  necks  for  the  food  which  was  to  be  had  in  such  abun- 
dance. And  on  another  tree  sat  the  parent  hawks,  com- 
placently looking  over  the  nests  of  the  other  birds,  like 
a  coyote  waiting  for  a  horse  to  die.  At  Cocopah  Moun- 
tain a  golden  eagle  soared,  coming  down  close  to  the 
ground  as  we  rested  under  the  mesquite.  Then  as  we 


320  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

travelled  clear  streams  of  water  began  to  pour  in  from 
the  north  and  east,  those  same  streams  we  had  lost  above, 
but  cleared  entirely  of  their  silt.  Now  the  willows  grew 
scarce,  and  instead  of  mud  banks  a  dry,  firm  earth  was 
built  up  from  the  river's  edge,  and  the  stream  increased 
in  size^  Soon  it  was  six  or  seven  hundred  feet  wide  and 
running  with  a  fair  current.  This  was  the  Hardy  River. 
We  noticed  signs  of  falling  water  on  the  banks  as  though 
the  stream  had  dropped  an  inch  or  two.  In  a  half-hour 
the  mark  indicated  a  fall  of  eight  inches  or  more  ;  then  we 
realized  we  were  going  out  with  the  tide.  A  taste  of 
water  proved  it.  The  river  water  was  well  mixed  with  a 
weak  saline  solution.  We  filled  our  canteens  at  once. 

We  saw  a  small  building  and  a  flagpole  on  the  south 
shore,  but  on  nearing  the  place  found  it  was  deserted. 
A  few  miles  below  were  two  other  channels  equally  as 
large  as  that  on  which  we  travelled,  evidently  fed  by 
streams  similar  to  our  own.  There  were  numerous  scat- 
tered trees,  some  of  them  cottonwood,  and  we  saw  some 
grazing  cattle.  We  began  to  look  for  the  ranch  house, 
which  some  one  had  said  was  at  the  point  where  the  Colo- 
rado and  the  Hardy  joined,  and  which  others  told  us  was 
at  the  Gulf. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE    GULF    OF    CALIFORNIA 

THAT  the  head  of  the  Gulf  of  California  has  a  big 
tide  is  well  known.  Choked  in  a  narrowing  cone,  the 
waters  rise  higher  and  higher  as  they  come  to  the  apex, 
reaching  twenty-five  feet  or  over  in  a  high  tide.  This 
causes  a  tidal  bore  to  roll  up  the  Colorado,  and  from  all 
reports  it  was  something  to  be  avoided.  The  earliest 
Spanish  explorers  told  some  wonderful  tales  of  being 
caught  in  this  bore  and  of  nearly  losing  their  little  sailing 
vessels. 

This  was  my  first  experience  with  river  tides.  It 
was  somewhat  of  a  disappointment  to  me  that  I  could 
not  arrange  to  be  here  at  a  high  tide,  for  we  had  come  at 
the  first  quarter  of  the  moon.  Out  on  the  open  sea  one 
can  usually  make  some  headway  by  rowing  against  the 
ebb  or  flow  of  the  tide :  here  on  the  Colorado,  where 
it  flowed  upstream  at  a  rate  of  from  five  to  eight  miles 
an  hour,  it  was  different.  When  we  reached  the  head  of 
the  tide,  it  was  going  out.  Unfortunately  for  us  the  day 
was  gone  when  the  current  began  to  run  strong.  It 

Y  321 


322  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

hardly  seemed  advisable  to  travel  with  it  after  dark.  We 
might  pass  the  ranch,  or  be  carried  against  a  rock-bound 
coast,  or  find  difficulty  in  landing  and  be  overwhelmed 
by  the  tidal  bore.  So  when  darkness  fell  we  camped, 
pulling  our  boat  out  in  a  little  slough  to  prevent  it  from 
being  carried  away.  Evidently  we  were  too  near  the 
headwaters  for  a  tidal  bore,  for  at  eleven  P.M.  the  waters 
turned  and  came  back  as  quietly  as  they  ran  out. 

We  launched  our  boat  before  the  break  of  day,  and 
for  four  hours  we  travelled  on  a  good  current.  The  chan- 
nel now  had  widened  to  a  half-mile,  with  straight  earthy 
banks,  about  fifteen  feet  high.  Still  there  was  no  sign 
of  a  ranch,  and  it  began  to  look  to  us  as  if  there  was  little 
likelihood  of  finding  any. 

The  land  was  nearly  level  and  except  for  a  few  raised 
hummocks  on  which  grew  some  scattered  trees,  it  was 
quite  bare.  This  was  not  only  because  it  did  not  get 
the  life-giving  water  from  the  north,  but  because  at  times 
it  was  submerged  under  the  saline  waters  from  the  south. 
Near  the  shores  of  the  river,  and  extending  back  for 
fifty  feet,  was  a  matted,  rank  growth  of  grass ;  beyond 
that  the  earth  was  bare,  baked  and  cracked  by  the 
burning  sun.  This  grass,  we  found,  was  a  favorite  resort 
of  rattlesnakes.  We  killed  two  of  them,  a  large  one  and 
a  vicious  little  flat-headed  sidewinder. 

All  this  land  was  the  south  rim  of  the  silt  dam,  which 
extended  from  the  line  of  cliffs  or  mesa  on  the  east  to 


THE  GULF  OF  CALIFORNIA  323 

the  mountains  on  the  west.  The  other  rim,  a  hundred 
feet  higher,  lay  at  least  fifty  miles  to  the  north.  Here 
was  the  resting-place  of  a  small  portion  of  the  sediment 
carved  away  by  the  Colorado's  floods.  How  deep  it  is 
piled  and  how  far  it  extends  out  under  the  waters  of  the 
'Gulf  would  be  hard  to  say. 

We  felt  sure  that  we  would  get  to  the  Gulf  with  this 
tide,  but  when  the  time  came  for  it  to  turn  we  were  still 
many  miles  away.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  camp 
out  on  this  sun-baked  plain.  We  stopped  a  little  after 
9.30  A.M.  Now  that  we  were  nearing  the  Gulf  we  were 
sure  there  would  be  a  tidal  bore.  As  we  breakfasted  a 
slight  rushing  sound  was  heard,  and  what  appeared  to  be 
a  ripple  of  broken  water  or  small  breaker  came  up  the 
stream  and  passed  on.  This  was  a  disappointment. 
With  high  water  on  the  river  and  with  a  low  tide  this  was 
all  the  tidal  bore  we  would  see. 

In  four  hours  the  water  rose  fourteen  feet,  then  for 
two  hours  the  rise  was  slower.  Within  three  feet  of  the 
level  it  came.  The  opposite  side,  rounded  at  the  edges, 
looked  like  a  thread  on  top  of  the  water,  tapered  to  a 
single  silken  strand  and  looking  toward  the  Gulf,  merged 
into  the  water.  To  all  appearances  it  was  a  placid  lake 
spread  from  mountain  to  mesa. 

Our  smaller  canteen  was  still  filled  with  the  fresh 
water  secured  the  evening  before.  The  other  had  been 
emptied  and  was  filled  again  before  the  return  of  the  tide, 


324  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

but  considerable  taste  of  the  salt  remained.  What  we 
did  now  must  be  done  with  caution.  So  far  we  had  not 
seen  the  ranch.  We  were  in  doubt  whether  it  was  some- 
where out  on  the  coast  or  back  on  one  of  the  sloughs 
passed  the  evening  before.  We  had  heard  of  large 
sail-boats  being  hauled  from  Yuma  and  launched  by  the" 
ranch.  This  would  seem  to  indicate  that  it  was  some- 
where on  the  Gulf.  We  had  provisions  sufficient  for 
one  day,  one  canteen  of  fresh  water,  and  another  so  mixed 
with  the  salt  water  that  we  would  not  use  it  except  as  a 
last  resort. 

A  little  after  3.30  P.M.  the  tide  changed ;  we  launched 
our  boat  and  went  out  with  the  flood.  As  we  neared 
the  mouth  of  the  stream  we  found  that  the  inrush  and 
outrush  of  water  had  torn  the  banks.  Here  the  river 
spread  in  a  circular  pool  several  miles  across.  It  seemed 
almost  as  if  the  waters  ran  clear  to  the  line  of  yellow  cliffs 
and  to  the  hazy  mountain  range.  Then  the  shores  closed 
in  again  just  before  the  current  divided  quite  evenly  on 
either  side  of  a  section  of  the  barren  plain  named  Mon- 
tague Island.  We  took  the  channel  to  the  east. 

Our  last  hope  of  finding  the  ranch  was  in  a  dried-out 
river  channel,  overgrown  with  trees.  But  although  we 
looked  carefully  as  we  passed,  there  was  no  sign  of  a 
trail  or  of  human  life.  Some  egrets  preened  their  silken 
feathers  on  the  bank ;  sand-hill  cranes  and  two  coyotes, 
fat  as  hogs  and  dragging  tails  weighted  with  mud, 


THE  GULF  OF  CALIFORNIA  325 

feasted  on  the  lively  hermit-crabs,  which  they  extracted 
from  their  holes  —  and  that  was  all. 

The  sun,  just  above  the  lilac-tinted  mountains,  hung 
like  a  great  suspended  ball  of  fire.  The  cloudless  sky 
glared  like  a  furnace.  Deep  purple  shadows  crept  into 
the  canyons  slashing  the  mountain  range.  The  yellow 
dust-waves  and  the  mirages  disappeared  with  the  going 
down  of  the  sun.  Still  we  were  carried  on  and  on.  We 
would  go  down  with  the  tide.  Now  the  end  of  the  island 
lay  opposite  the  line  of  cliffs ;  soon  we  would  be  in  the 
Gulf. 

So  ended  the  Colorado.  Two  thousand  miles  above, 
it  was  a  beautiful  river,  born  of  a  hundred  snow-capped 
peaks  and  a  thousand  crystal  streams  ;  gathering  strength, 
it  became  the  masterful  river  which  had  carved  the  hearts 
of  mountains  and  slashed  the  rocky  plateaus,  draining 
a  kingdom  and  giving  but  little  in  return.  Now  it  was 
going  under,  but  it  was  fighting  to  the  end.  Waves  of 
yellow  struggled  up  through  waves  of  green  and  were 
beaten  down  again.  The  dorsal  fins  of  a  half-dozen  sharks 
cut  circles  near  our  craft.  With  the  last  afterglow  we 
were  past  the  end  of  the  island  and  were  nearing  the 
brooding  cliffs.  Still  the  current  ran  strong.  The  last 
vestige  of  day  was  swallowed  in  the  gloom,  just  as  the 
Colorado  was  buried  'neath  the  blue.  A  hard  wind  was 
blowing,  toward  the  shore  ;  the  sea  was  choppy.  A  point 
of  rocks  where  the  cliffs  met  the  sea  was.  our  ,goal.  Would 


326  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

we  never  reach  it  ?  Even  in  the  night,  which  was  now 
upon  us,  the  distance  was  deceptive.  At  last  we  neared 
the  pile  of  rocks.  The  sound  of  waters  pounding  on  the 
shore  was  heard,  and  we  hurriedly  landed,  a  half-mile 
above  it,  just  as  the  tide  turned. 

The  beach  was  a  half-mile  wide,  covered  with  mud 
and  sloughs.  There  was  no  high  shore.  But  an  examina- 
tion showed  that  the  tide  ran  back  to  the  cliffs.  One  of 
us  had  to  stay  with  the  boat.  Telling  Phillipps  to  get 
what  sleep  he  could,  I  sat  in  the  boat,  and  allowed  the 
small  breakers  which  fox-chased  each  other  to  beat  it 
in  as  the  tide  rose. 

An  arctic  explorer  has  said  that  having  an  adventure 
means  that  something  unexpected  or  unforeseen  has 
happened  ;  that  some  one  has  been  incompetent.  I  had 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  the  fault  of  this  adven- 
ture, if  such  it  could  be  called,  was  mine.  Here  we  were, 
at  our  goal  in  Mexico,  supposed  to  be  a  hostile  land,  with 
scant  provisions  for  one  day.  It  was  a  hundred  miles 
along  the  line  of  cliffs,  back  to  Yuma.  So  far,  we  had 
failed  to  find  the  ranch.  It  was  not  likely  that  it  was 
around  the  point  of  rocks.  We  knew  now  that  the  Colo- 
rado channel  was  fifteen  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the 
river,  and  was  not  a  slough  as  we  had  supposed.  Doubt- 
less the  ranch  was  up  there.  Our  best  plan  was  to  return 
to  the  head  of  the  tide,  going  up  the  Colorado,  then  if 
we  did  not  find  the  ranch  we  would  abandon  the  boat, 


THE  GULF  OF  CALIFORNIA  327 

snare  some  birds,  keep  out  of  the  scorching  heat,  and 
travel  in  the  morning  and  evening.  Two  active  men 
should  be  able  to  do  that  without  difficulty. 

So  the  hours  passed,  with  the  breakers  driving  the 
boat  toward  the  line  of  cliffs.  When  it  had  reached  its 
highest  point,  I  pulled  into  a  slough  and  tied  up,  then 
woke  Al  as  we  had  agreed.  While  I  slept,  he  climbed 
the  cliffs  to  have  a  last  look.  An  hour  after  daybreak 
he  returned.  Nothing  but  rock  and  desert  could  be 
seen.  We  dragged  the  boat  down  in  the  slime  of  the 
slough  until  we  caught  the  falling  tied.  Then  Al  rigged 
up  his  sail.  With  the  rising  sun  a  light  breeze  blew  in 
from  the  Gulf.  Here  was  our  opportunity.  Slowly  we 
went  up  against  the  falling  tide.  Then  as  the  breeze  failed, 
the  tide  returned.  Fifty  feet  away  a  six  foot  black  sea 
bass  floated ;  his  rounded  back  lifted  above  the  water. 
With  the  approach  of  the  boat  he  was  gone.  The  sharks 
were  seen  again. 

Two  hours  later  we  had  entered  the  mouth  of  the  river 
carried  by  the  rising  tide.  Several  miles  were  left  behind. 
Another  breeze  came  up  as  the  tide  failed,  and  the  sail 
was  rigged  up  again.  Things  were  coming  our  way  at  last. 
Al  knew  how  to  handle  a  boat.  Running  her  in  close  to 
the  top  of  the  straight  falling  banks  I  could  leap  to  the 
land,  take  a  picture,  then  run  and  overtake  the  boat,  and 
leap  on  again. 

Then  the  wind  shifted,  the  tide  turned,  and  we  tied 


328  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

up,  directly  opposite  the  point  where  we  had  camped  the 
afternoon  before.  It  was  the  hottest  day  we  had  seen. 
Whirlwinds,  gathering  the  dust  in  slender  funnels,  scur- 
ried across  the  plains.  Mirages  of  trees  bordering  shim- 
mering lakes  and  spreading  water  such  as  we  had  come 
through  below  Yuma  were  to  be  seen,  even  out  towards 
the  sea.  Then  over  toward  the  cliffs  where  the  old 
Colorado  once  ran  we  saw  a  column  of  distant  smoke. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  hunter ;  it  could  hardly  be  the  ranch. 
As  we  could  do  nothing  with  the  boat,  we  concluded  to 
walk  over  that  way.  It  was  many  miles  distant.  Taking 
everything  we  had,  including  our  last  lunch,  we  started 
our  walk,  leaving  a  cloth  on  a  pole  to  mark  the  point 
where  our  boat  was  anchored.  But  after  going  four 
miles  it  still  seemed  no  nearer  than  before,  so  we  returned. 
It  was  evening.  The  water  was  drinkable  again ;  that 
was  something  to  be  thankful  for.  By  ten  o'clock  that 
night  the  tide  would  come  up  again.  After  dark  we  found 
that  our  boat  was  being  beached.  So  we  ran  it  down  and 
began  pulling  it  along  over  a  shoal  reaching  far  out  from 
the  shore.  As  we  tugged  I  was  sure  I  heard  a  call  some- 
where up  the  river.  What  kind  of  a  land  was  this  ! 
Could  it  be  that  my  senses  were  all  deceiving  me  as  my 
eyes  were  fooled  by  the  mirage  ?  I  had  heard  it,  Al  had 
not,  and  laughed  when  I  said  that  I  had.  We  listened 
and  heard  it  again,  plainly  this  time,  "  Can't  you  men  find 
a  landing  ?  We  have  a  good  one  up  here,"  it  said. 


THE  GULF  OF  CALIFORNIA  329 

We  asked  them  to  row  down,  advising  them  to  keep 
clear  of  the  shoal.  We  waded  out,  guided  by  their  voices, 
in  the  pitch  darkness  and  neared  the  boat. 

One  shadowy  form  sat  in  either  end  of  a  flat-bottomed 
boat.  There  was  a  mast,  and  the  boat  was  fitted  for 
two  oarsmen  as  well.  Evidently  the  load  was  heavy,  for 
it  was  well  down  in  the  water.  The  sail  cloth  was  spread 
over  all  the  boat,  excepting  one  end  where  there  was  a 
small  sheet-iron  stove,  with  a  pan  of  glowing  wood  coal 
underneath.  The  aroma  of  coffee  came  from  a  pot  on 
the  stove.  As  I  steadied  myself  at  the  bow  I  touched  a 
crumpled  flag,  —  Mexican,  I  thought,  —  but  I  could  not 
see.  Both  figures  sat  facing  us,  with  rifles  in  their  hands, 
alert  and  ready  for  a  surprise.  Smugglers  !  I  thought ; 
guns,  I  imagined.  They  could  not  see  our  faces  in 
the  dark,  neither  could  we  distinguish  theirs.  Judging 
by  their  voices  they  were  young  men.  I  thought  from 
the  first  that  they  were  Mexicans,  but  they  talked  without 
accent.  They  could  see  that  we  carried  no  arms,  but 
their  vigilance  was  not  relaxed.  They  asked  what  our 
trouble  was  and  we  told  them  of  the  beached  boat,  what 
we  had  been  doing,  and  why  we  were  there.  They  said 
they  were  out  for  a  little  sight-seeing  trip  down  in  the 
Gulf.  They  might  go  to  Tiburone  Island.  One  of  them 
wondered  if  it  was  true  that  the  natives  were  cannibals. 
He  said  he  would  not  care  about  being  shot,  but  he  would 
hate  to  be  put  in  their  stew-pot.  We  asked  them  how 


330  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

much  water  they  carried.  A  fifteen-gallon  keg  was  all. 
They  hoped  to  get  more  along  the  coast.  It  is  quite 
well  known  there  is  none.  They  professed  to  be  unin- 
formed about  the  country,  did  not  know  there  was  a 
ranch  or  a  tidal  bore,  and  thanked  us  for  our  information 
about  the  tides,  and  the  advice  to  fill  their  keg  when  the 
water  was  lowest,  which  would  be  in  half  an  hour.  They 
could  not  sell  any  provisions,  but  gave  us  a  quart  of  flour. 

As  we  talked  an  undermined  bank  toppled  over, 
sounding  like  shots  from  a  gun.  One  cocked  his  rifle  on 
the  impulse,  then  laughed  when  he  realized  what  it  was. 
Just  before  we  parted  one  of  them  remarked,  "You  came 
through  the  Bee  River  four  days  ago,  near  a  telephone, 
didn't  you  ?"  "Yes,  but  we  didn't  see  any  one,"  I 
replied. 

"No  ?  But  we  saw  you  !"  And  we  felt  the  smiles 
we  could  not  see. 

They  said  the  large  ranch  had  some  Chinamen  clear- 
ing the  highest  ground,  and  building  levees  around  it  to 
keep  the  water  out.  The  telephone  and  a  motor  boat 
connected  the  different  ranches.  Their  advice  to  us  was 
to  keep  to  the  river,  not  to  look  for  the  ranch,  but  to 
get  on  the  telephone  and  raise  a  racket  until  some  one 
showed  up. 

Then  we  parted  to  go  to  our  respective  landings,  with 
mutual  wishes  for  a  successful  journey.  The  boat  was 
pulled  down.  The  tide  was  on  the  point  of  turning,  but 


TEN  MILES  FROM  THE  GULF  OF  CALIFORNIA.     COMING  UP  ON  A  TWENTY-FOOT 

TIDE. 


SUNSET  ON  THE   LOWER   COLORADO   RIVER. 


THE  GULF  OF  CALIFORNIA  331 

it  would  be  an  hour  before  there  would  be  any  strength 
to  it.  I  went  to  shore  and  built  a  fire  of  some  driftwood, 
for  the  long  stand  in  the  water  had  chilled  me.  Al 
stayed  with  the  boat.  Earlier  in  the  day,  I  cautiously 
shook  the  sticks  loose  from  the  matted  grass,  fearing  the 
rattlers  which  were  everywhere.  In  this  case  nothing 
buzzed.  But  I  had  no  sooner  got  my  fire  well  started 
when  a  rattler  began  to  sing,  roused  by  the  light  and  the 
heat,  about  twenty  feet  away.  My  fire  was  built  beside 
one  of  the  many  sloughs  which  cut  back  through  the 
grass  and  ended  in  the  barren  soil.  These  sloughs  were 
filled  with  water  when  the  tide  was  in  and  made  ideal 
landing  places,  especially  if  one  had  to  avoid  a  big  tidal 
bore.  Getting  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire,  I  tossed 
a  stick  occasionally  to  keep  him  roused.  Soon  another 
joined,  and  between  them  they  made  the  air  hum.  By 
this  time  I  was  thoroughly  warmed  and  felt  that  the  boat 
would  be  the  best  place  for  me.  Carefully  extinguishing 
my  fire,  I  went  down  to  the  river  just  as  the  tide  returned. 
Without  any  sign  or  call  from  the  shore  we  were  carried 
up  with  the  tide.  We  were  both  weary  but  I  dared  not 
sleep,  so  I  merely  kept  the  boat  away  from  the  shores 
and  drifted,  while  Phillipps  slept.  I  had  picked  out  a 
guiding  star  which  I  little  needed  while  the  current  was 
running  strong,  but  which  would  give  us  our  course  when 
the  tide  changed,  for  we  could  be  carried  out  just  as 
easily. 


332  THROUGH  THE  GRAND  CANYON  FROM  WYOMING  TO  MEXICO 

But  an  hour  after  we  left  our  camp  another  light 
appeared,  growing  larger  and  larger.  It  was  one  of 
two  things.  Either  my  fire  was  not  extinguished,  or  a 
match  thrown  down  by  one  of  the  others  had  fired  the 
deep  dry  grass.  I  consoled  myself  that  it  could  not 
spread,  for  the  sloughs  and  the  barren  soil  would  cut  it 
off.  I  had  a  grim  satisfaction  when  I  thought  of  the 
snakes  and  how  they  would  run  for  the  desert  land.  This 
was  a  real  guiding  star,  growing  larger  and  larger  as  we 
were  carried  up  the  stream.  I  slept  on  shore  when  the 
tide  would  take  us  no  farther.  Phillipps  got  breakfast. 
We  were  now  about  three  miles  from  the  slough.  After 
breakfast  we  alternately  towed  the  boat,  for  there  was 
no  wind  to  carry  us  up  this  morning,  and  two  hours  later 
arrived  at  the  diverging  streams.  Near  by  we  saw  some 
mules  showing  evidence  of  having  been  worked.  It  was 
clear  now  that  the  ranch  was  near.  There  was  still  a 
chance  that  we  would  take  the  wrong  stream.  Over  on 
the  opposite  side  was  a  tall  cottonwood  tree.  This  I 
climbed,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  some  kind  of  a 
shed  half  a  mile  up  the  east  stream.  The  land  between 
proved  to  be  a  large  island.  As  we  neared  the  building 
two  swarthy  men  emerged  and  came  down  to  the  shore. 
"Buenas  dias,"  Al  called  as  we  pulled  in  to  the  landing. 

"Buenas  dias,  Senor,"  they  answered  with  a  smile. 

They  were  employees  of  the  Rancho  La  Bolso,  which 
was  a  half-mile  up  the  stream. 


THE  GULF  OF  CALIFORNIA  333 

Did  we  make  the  big  fire  which  had  burned  until 
morning  ? 

Our  answer  seemed  to  relieve  their  minds. 

What  would  we  do  with  our  boat  ?  It  was  theirs  to 
do  with  as  they  pleased.  Leading  two  horses  from  out 
of  the  building,  they  mounted  and  told  us  to  climb  on 
behind,  and  away  we  rode  across  some  water-filled  sloughs. 
Hidden  in  the  trees  we  came  to  the  buildings  —  three  or 
four  flat-topped  adobe  houses.  Some  little  brown  chil- 
dren scattered  to  announce  our  coming. 

As  we  dismounted  two  white  men  approached. 
"Why,  hello,  Phillipps  !"  the  ranch  boss  said  when  he 
saw  my  companion.  "This  is  a  long  walk  from  Yuma. 
You  fellows  are  just  in  time  to  grub  !" 

THE    END 


APPENDIX 

THE  parties  who  have  made  extended  voyages  through 
one  or  more  of  the  canyons  of  the  Green  and  Colorado 
rivers,  and  the  order  of  their  leaving,  according  to 
Dellenbaugh,  are  as  follows  : 

Major  J.  W.  Powell  left  Green  River,  Wyoming, 
May  24,  1869;  arrived  at  the  Virgin  River  with  five  of 
his  party,  six  in  all,  Aug.  30,  1869  —  was  met  there  by 
some  Mormons  who  had  been  ordered  to  be  on  the  look- 
out by  Brigham  Young.  The  party  were  distributed  as 
follows : 

The  boats  :  i.  Emma  Dean.     J.  W.  Powell,  John  C.  Sum- 
ner,  Wm.  H.  Dunn. 

2.  Kitty  Clyde's  Sister.     Walter  Powell,  G.  Y. 

Bradley. 

3.  No  Name.     O.  G.  Rowland,  Seneca  How- 

land,  Frank  Goodman. 

4.  Maid  of  the  Canyon.     Wm.  R.  Hawkins, 

Andrew  Hall. 

Notes.  F.  Goodman  left  the  party  at  the  Mouth  of 
the  Uinta.  The  No  Name  was  wrecked  in  Lodore 
Canyon.  O.  G.  Howland,  Seneca  Howland,  and  Wm. 

335 


336  APPENDIX 

H.  Dunn  left  the  party  when  about  twenty-five  miles 
from  the  mouth  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  and  were  killed 
by  the  Shewits  Utes  near  Mt.  Dellenbaugh.  Sumner 
and  Hall  went  on  down  to  the  Gulf  of  California. 

The  second  Powell  expedition  left  Green  River, 
Wyoming,  May  22,  1871,  taking  advantage  of  the  high 
water,  which  is  desirable  on  the  Green  River.  They 
arrived  at  the  Mouth  of  the  Paria,  Oct.  22,  1871.  Start- 
ing again  from  the  Paria  (Lee's  Ferry)  Aug.  17,  1872, 
they  passed  through  Marble  Canyon  and  nearly  100  miles 
of  the  Grand  Canyon,  reaching  the  mouth  of  Kanab  Can- 
yon Saturday,  Sept.  7,  1872.  Here  the  voyage  was  discon- 
tinued on  account  of  high  water,  rising  higher  each  day. 
The  crews  of  this  party  were  distributed  as  follows : 

1871.    i.  Emma  Dean.     J.  W.  Powell,  S.  V.  Jones,  F.  S. 
Dellenbaugh,  J.   K.  Hilliers. 

2.  Nellie  Powell.     A.  H.  Thompson,  John  F.  Stew- 

ard,   F.    M.    Bishop,    F.  C.    A.    Richard- 
son. 

3.  Canonita.     E.  O.  Beaman,  W.  Clement  Powell, 

Andrew  C.  Hatton. 

Notes.  Richardson  left  in  Brown's  Park;  Beaman, 
Steward,  and  Bishop  at  the  end  of  the  first  season.  The 
boats  had  been  badly  pounded,  the  Nellie  Powell  very 
much  so,  and  she  was  left  at  Lee's  Ferry.  The  party 
proceeded  as  follows  : 


APPENDIX  337 

1872.    i.  Emma  Dean.     J.  W.  Powell,  S.  V.  Jones,  F.  S. 

Dellenbaugh,  J.  K.  Hilliers. 

2.  Canonita.     A.     H.    Thompson,    W.     Clement 
Powell,  A.  C.  Hatton. 

H.  M.  Hook  with  fifteen  miners  in  crude  boats  left 
Green  River,  Wyoming,  June  I,  1869.  H.  M.  Hook  and 
one  other  were  drowned  in  Red  Canyon,  and  the  expedi- 
tion was  abandoned. 

Earlier  parties  to  attempt  descent:  1825  —  Wm. 
H.  Ashley  and  party  to  Brown's  Park.  1849  —  Wm.  L. 
Manly  and  party  to  Uintah  Valley.  The  name  D. 
Julian,  Mai  1836,  occurs  carved  in  the  walls  in  Labyrinth 
Canyon,  and  again  in  Cataract  Canyon.  No  further 
record  at  present. 

BROWN-STANTON 

This  expedition  left  Blake  (Green  River,  Utah)  May 
25,  1889,  16  men  with  6  boats  (very  light).  The  entire 
party  was  Frank  M.  Brown,  chief,  Robert  Brewster 
Stanton,  chief  engineer,  John  Hislop,  C.  W.  Potter, 
T.  P.  Rigney,  E.  A.  Reynolds,  J.  H.  Hughes,  W.  H.  Bush, 

Edward  Coe,  Edward  ,  Peter  Hansborough, 

Henry  Richards,  G.  W.  Gibson,  Charles  Porter,  F.  A. 
Nims,  T.  C.  Terry. 

Notes.  Brown,  Hansborough,  and  Richards  were 
drowned  in  Marble  Canyon.  The  expedition  was  tern- 


338  APPENDIX 

porarily  abandoned  in  lower  Marble  Canyon.  Hughes, 
Terry,  and  Rigney  left  at  Glen  Canyon,  Reynolds  left  at 
Lee's  Ferry,  and  Harry  McDonald  joined  the  party. 

STANTON 

Stanton  re-outfitted  with  heavy  boats,  22  feet  long, 
and  began  the  second  trip  in  Glen  Canyon.  This  party 
included  R.  B.  Stanton,  Langdon  Gibson,  Harry  McDon- 
ald, Elmer  Kane,  John  Hislop,  F.  A.  Nims,  Reginald 
Travers,  W.  H.  Edwards,  A.  B.  Twining,  H.  G.  Ballard, 
L.  G.  Brown,  and  James  Hogue.  They  entered  the  head 
of  Marble  Canyon  Dec.  28,  1889,  and  finished  at  tide 
water  in  the  Gulf  of  California,  Apr.  26,  1890.  One 
boat  wrecked  in  the  Grand  Canyon.  Purpose  of  trip, 
survey  for  a  railroad. 

Notes.  Nims  had  a  fall  in  Marble  Canyon,  which 
broke  his  leg.  He  was  taken  out  over  a  ijoo-foot  wall 
and  carried  over  the  plateau  to  a  point  where  he  could 
be  hauled  out  by  wagon.  McDonald  left  the  expedition 
near  the  upper  end  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  Hogue  and 
one  other  left  at  Diamond  Creek. 

GALLOWAY 

Nathan  Galloway  left  Green  River,  Wyoming,  in  the 
autumn  of  1895  and  went  to  Lee's  Ferry.  Late  in  1896 
N.  Galloway  and  Wm.  Richmond  left  Henry's  Fork, 
Wyoming,  and  reached  Needles,  Feb.  10,  1897.  Gallo- 


APPENDIX 

way  passed  down  as  far  as  the  Uintah  Valley  five  times, 
and  through  Desolation  and  Gray  canyons  seven  times, 
through  Cataract  three  times,  and  the  Grand  Canyon, 
once  before  making  the  trip  with  Julius  F.  Stone. 
Galloway  was  a  trapper. 

FLAVELL 

On  Aug.  27,  1896,  George  F.  Flavell  and  one  com- 
panion, name  unknown,  started  from  Green  River, 
Wyoming,  and  went  to  Yuma,  Arizona,  which  was  reached 
Dec.  1896.  They  had  one  boat;  flat-bottomed.  Little 
is  known  about  this  expedition.  Prospector  or  trapper  ? 

RUSSELL-MONNETTE 

Charles  S.  Russell,  E.  R.  Monnette,  and  Bert  Loper, 
in  three  steel  boats,  left  Blake  (Green  River),  Utah,  Sept. 
20,  1907.  Russell  and  Monnette  reached  Needles  in  Feb. 
1908  with  one  boat.  Purpose,  prospecting. 

Notes.  Loper's  boat  was  punctured  in  the  lower  end 
of  Cataract  Canyon,  and  he  held  up  to  repair  while  the 
others  continued  to  prospect  as  far  as  Lee's  Ferry.  After 
a  long  wait  they  proceeded  with  the  trip.  Loper  arrived 
shortly  after,  but  discontinued  the  trip  when  he  found 
he  was  left  behind.  A  second  boat  was  lost  in  the  Hance 
Rapid.  The  third  boat  was  torn  away  from  them,  while 
lining  it  in  the  Hermit  Creek  Rapid.  They  climbed  the 
granite,  and  followed  a  trail  which  took  them  to  the  camp 


340  APPENDIX 

of  L.  Bouchre,  a  prospector.  The  boat  was  found  the 
next  day  with  three  holes  in  its  side,  in  a  whirlpool  five 
miles  below  the  Hermit  Creek  Rapid.  The  boat  was  re- 
paired and  the  voyage  completed  to  Needles. 

STONE 

Julius  F.  Stone  of  Columbus,  Ohio,  accompanied  by 
Nathan  T.  Galloway,  Chas.  S.  Sharp,  S.  S.  Denbeudorff, 
and  R.  A.  Cogswell  (Photographer),  outfitted  with  four 
flat-bottomed  boats,  left  Green  River,  Wyoming,  Sept. 
12,  1909,  and  reached  Needles  Nov.  15,  1909,  with  all 
boats  in  good  condition,  and  with  the  remarkable  record 
for  Stone  and  Galloway  of  having  brought  their  two 
boats  through  without  an  upset. 

Notes.  Sharp  discontinued  the  trip  at  Glen  Can- 
yon, and  one  boat  was  left  at  this  place.  Purpose, 
photographic  exploration. 

KOLB 

On  Sept.  8,  1911,  Emery  C.  Kolb,  James  Fagin,  and 
Ellsworth  L.  Kolb,  outfitted  with  two  flat-bottomed 
boats,  left  Green  River  and  arrived  at  Bright  Angel 
Trail,  Nov.  16,  1911.  James  Fagin  left  the  party  at  the 
mouth  of  Lodore  Canyon.  On  Dec.  19,  Herbert  Lauzon 
joined  the  party  at  the  Grand  Canyon  for  the  trip  to 
Needles ;  Ernest  V.  Kolb  was  taken  along  for  a  twenty- 
five  mile  ride  to  the  end  of  the  Bass  Trail.  Lauzon  fin- 


APPENDIX  341 

ished  the  trip  at  Needles  with  the  Kolb  brothers,  Jan.  18, 
1912.  Purpose,  moving  pictures  and  photographs.  In 
May,  1913,  E.  L.  Kolb  made  the  trip  from  Needles  to  the 
Gulf,  travelling  on  the  high  water  and  making  the  400- 
mile  run  in  8  days. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  CATARACT  CANYON 

J.  S.  Best  and  party  left  Green  River,  Utah,  July 
10,  1891.  Wrecked  in  Cataract  Canyon.  No  lives  lost. 

There  are  incomplete  records  of  nine  parties  who 
have  attempted  to  pass  through  Cataract  Canyon,  and 
who  undoubtedly  met  with  fatalities.  On  two  occasions 
a  single  member  escaped  and  reached  the  Hite  ranch 
in  a  famished  condition. 

John  Vartan,  an  Armenian  prospector,  lost  his  boat 
and  barely  succeeded  in  escaping.  His  clothes  were 
made  into  a  rope  by  which  he  dropped  from  a  ledge 
to  a  canyon,  through  which  he  reached  the  Land  of 
Standing  Rocks.  He  was  found  after  weeks  of  exposure, 
during  which  time  he  lived  on  plants  and  roots.  He 
was  nursed  back  to  life,  but  never  gave  a  very  clear  ac- 
count of  his  experiences. 

A.  G.  Turner,  the  Glen  Canyon  prospector,  made 
a  successful  passage  through  the  rapids  of  this  canyon 
in  1907. 


342  APPENDIX 

The  Stone  expedition  found  a  wrecked  boat  and  fresh 
tracks  of  three  persons,  one  of  these  being  a  boy's  tracks, 
on  the  shore.  No  further  trace  of  them  has  been  dis- 
covered. 

Charles  Smith  wrote  us  that  he  succeeded  in  getting 
through  after  we  saw  him  in  1911. 

In  1912  Smith  and  Galloway  combined  and  passed 
through  in  safety.  Near  Dark  Canyon  they  found  the 
decomposed  body  of  a  man  on  a  rock  in  mid-stream. 
From  odors,  they  judged  there  were  other  bodies  in 
other  places  not  far  from  this  find. 

Just  before  this  book  goes  to  press  we  have  received 
two  letters,  one  from  Mr.  J.  F.  Stone,  stating  that  Gal- 
loway had  died  a  natural  death.  Another  letter  is  from 
John  Hite,  informing  us  that  his  brother  Cass  Hite  was 
dead.  In  the  same  letter  he  states  that  Smith  left 
Blake,  Utah,  for  the  third  time,  in  November,  1913,  and 
had  never  showed  up  at  his  home.  Later  he  and  Loper 
found  half  of  his  wrecked  boat.  A  full  heart  pays  tribute 
to  the  memory  of  Smith. 

So  it  goes  on  from  year  to  year.  Judging  by  these 
experiences  it  would  seem  that  the  carefully  planned 
expeditions,  especially  those  with  covered  boats  con- 
taining air  chambers,  succeed  in  getting  through. 

The  writer  believes  that  a  passage  can  be  made  through 
Cataract  Canyon,  in  low  water,  without  being  com- 
pelled to  run  more  than  one  or  two  bad  rapids,  if  great 


APPENDIX  343 

care  is  taken  while  crossing  from  one  shore  to  the  other 
between  the  rapids.  With  a  light  canvas  boat,  or 
with  a  canoe  in  the  hands  of  experts,  it  might  be  possible 
to  avoid  them  all,  but  I  would  not  care  to  be  so  quoted, 
as  I  am  a  little  uncertain  about  the  two  last  bad  rapids. 
This  would  not  be  possible  in  Marble  or  the  Grand 
Canyon.  The  last  mentioned  contains  many  rapids  as 
bad  as  any  in  Cataract  Canyon.  We  find  that  all  those 
who  have  made  successful  passages  are  infatuated  with 
their  type  of  boat.  All  we  will  claim  for  our  type,  which 
came  to  us  through  Stone  and  Galloway,  is  that  three 
expeditions  have  used  this  type  of  boat,  and  they  all 
—  with  the  exception  of  one  in  perfect  condition  left  by 
Stone's  party  with  Hite  —  finished  at  Needles.  But 
whether  made  of  steel,  wood,  or  canvas,  all  boats  should 
be  decked  as  much  as  possible  to  keep  out  the  powerful 
waves,  and  should  contain  large  air  chambers.  Row- 
locks, oars,  paddles,  and  ropes  should  be  carefully  guarded 
against  breakage  and  loss. 

The  flood  stage  on  the  Colorado  River,  about  300,000 
cubic  second  feet,  exceeds  that  on  the  St.  Lawrence  River 
at  Niagara  Falls,  which  carries  about  250,000  cubic  second 
feet.  The  descent  in  many  rapids  on  the  Colorado  equals 
that  of  any  section  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  excepting  Niagara 
Falls.  In  the  low  water  stage,  the  rapids  lose  much  of 
their  strength  of  current  and  violence  of  waves,  and  the 
flow  is  only  a  small  fraction  of  the  flood  stage. 


344 


APPENDIX 


The  deepest  canyons  of  the  Green  and  Colorado 
rivers,  their  length,  approximate  depth,  and  the  fall  of 
the  river  are  as  follows.  These  figures  are  compiled  from 
"A  Canyon  Voyage,"  U.  S.G.  S.  maps,  and  other  sources. 


LENGTH  IN 

MILES 

GREATEST  DEPTH 
IN  FEET 

APPROXIMATE 
DESCENT 

Flaming  Gorge 

..... 

Horseshoe 



35 

Kingfisher 



Red 



2700 

350 

Lodore 

20? 

27OO-3OOO  l 

4.2  C 

Whirlpool 

ij. 

22OO 

I4.O 

Split  Mountain 

.     .... 

9 

2OOO 

90 

Desolation    . 

07 

27OO 

} 

Gray    .... 

2OOO 

}      550  ' 

Cataract        .     . 

J.I 

27OO-3OOO  3 

J.3O 

M^arble     .     .     . 

3  COO 

480 

Grand  Canyon 



217 

5000-6000  4 

1850 

The  entire  distance  from  Green  River,  Wyoming,  to 
the  tide  water  is  something  over  1600  miles.  The  descent 
is  a  little  over  6000  feet.  About  4300  feet  of  this  descent 
occurs  in  500  miles  of  the  canyons  listed  above;  2330 
feet  comes  in  Marble  Canyon  and  the  Grand  Canyon, 
the  two  combined  making  an  unbroken  canyon  of  283 
miles. 

1  Peaks  close  to  the  canyon  reach  a  height  of  3000  ft.  above  the  river. 
*  The  upper  half  of  Desolation  Canyon  has  no  rapids. 
1  Maps  give  depth  as  2700  ft.     We  believe  some  walls  are  higher. 
4  Greatest  depth  on  the  south  side  of  the  Grand  Canyon  is  near  500x3  ft.,  on  the 
north  rim  about  6000  ft. 


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Venice.  What  a  place  of  hidden  treasure  that  wonderful  city  is  to  one  of  Mr. 
Lucas's  very  original  genius  all  who  have  read  the  preceding  works  in  this 
series  can  easily  understand.  And  Mr.  Lucas  has  fully  realized  his  oppor- 
tunities. The  book  is,  perhaps,  the  most  fascinating  of  all.  With  its  colored 
illustrations  and  its  black  and  white  plates,  with  its  no  less  vivid  and  appre- 
ciative text,  it  is  a  publication  which  no  one  who  has  ever  been  to  Venice  should 
overlook,  while  to  those  who  have  not  been  it  will  open  up  new  vistas  of  un- 
dreamed-of beauties. 


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With  Poor  Immigrants  to  America 

BY  STEPHEN    GRAHAM 

Author  of  "  With  the  Russian  Pilgrims  to  Jerusalem,"  "  A  Tramp's 
Sketches,"  etc. 

Illustrated.     Cloth,  8vo,  boxed,  $2.50  net 

"  We  collected  on  the  quay  at  Liverpool  —  English,  Russians,  Jews,  Ger- 
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America."  These  words  describe  the  beginning  of  the  colorful  travels  of 
which  Mr.  Graham  writes  in  this  book.  Mr.  Graham  has  the  spirit  of  the 
real  adventurer.  He  prefers  people  to  Pullmans,  steerage  passage  to  first 
cabin.  In  his  mingling  with  the  poorer  classes  he  comes  in  contact  inti- 
mately with  a  life  which  most  writers  know  only  by  hearsay,  and  interesting 
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Panama :  The  Canal,  The  Country  and  The  People 
BY  ARTHUR   BULLARD    (ALBERT  EDWARDS) 

REVISED  EDITION  WITH  ADDITIONAL  CHAPTERS  AND  NEW  ILLUSTRATIONS 

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Not  only  has  Mr.  Bullard  revised  such  material  of  the  first  edition  of  his 
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It  is  not  confined  to  any  one  matter.  There  are  descriptions  of  the  natural 
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Japan  To-day  and  To-morrow 

BY  HAMILTON   W.    MABIE 
Author  of  "  American  Ideals,  Character  and  Life  " 

Illustrated.     Decorated  cloth,  izmo,  boxed,  $2,00  net 

The  purpose  of  this  volume  is  to  convey  a  clear  and  definite  im- 
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to  its  aim,  it  offers  chapters  on  the  manners  and  habits  of  the  Japan- 
ese, their  family  life,  their  love  of  art  and  of  nature  and  their  attitude 
toward  religion.  Their  historical  development  is  very  lightly 
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more  fully.  No  American  is  perhaps  better  fitted  to  write  such  a 
book  as  this  than  Dr.  Mabie.  As  lecturer  to  Japan  on  the  Carnegie 
Peace  Endowment  a  year  or  so  ago  he  had  splendid  opportunity  for 
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By  F.   MARION   CRAWFORD 

New  edition  in  two  volumes.     With  many  half  tone  illustrations  in 
the  text  and  31  photogravures 

Decorated  cloth,  8vo,  $3.00  net 

This  book  is  a  rare  combination  of  text  and  pictures.  Mr.  Crawford 
and  Mr.  Brokman,  the  illustrator,  worked  together  in  an  almost  ideal 
fashion.  The  vivid  description  of  the  one  and  the  sympathetic  draw- 
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a  bit  of  history  that  is  of  most  fascinating  interest.  Every  Crawford 
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add  this  edition,  which  may  truly  be  called  the  edition  de  luxe,  to 
his  library.  

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